


to keep & command

by wbtrashking



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Dom/sub, Illustrated, M/M, Safe Sane and Consensual, Slow Build, Sub Dimitri, Trans Male My Unit | Byleth, bottom dimitri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25774906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wbtrashking/pseuds/wbtrashking
Summary: “I should take him to one of those special clubs,” Sylvain muses.Ingrid flushes pink, stalking across the grass to jab him in the chest. “Sylvain Gautier, something is the matter with you."“He’s not going to therapy,” Sylvain continues undeterred, his tone lilting and high-humored. “We’d have to strap him to his bed to keep him from going to the office, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure he’s still not taking his meds. He can’t live off of coffee and energy drinks forever. Something’s gotta give.”“A BDSM club,” Felix says the words slowly, like doing so will help him process. “You’re going to takeDimitri Blaiddydto a BDSM club.”After Dimitri lands himself in the hospital,again, Sylvain has to come up with something to take his boss's mind off of the job. Luckily for him, Dimitri finds himself enamored with the community, especially after he becomes close with the owner of the club.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, bg felix/sylvain/ingrid, bg hilda/marianne
Comments: 8
Kudos: 118





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> welcome!!!!!! it's taken me approximately Eight Million Years to finish this fic. :')
> 
> major, mega shoutouts to my friend, beta, and fellow writer **jess [[ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaiibooker/pseuds/Kawaiibooker), [twitter](https://twitter.com/kawaiibooker), [tumblr](https://kawaiibooker.tumblr.com/)]**. if you're into one piece, RDR, MGS, or the witcher, i highly suggest you check her stuff out. ♡
> 
> **✧✧for a full list of content/warnings, please see[the end notes of chapter 1](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25774906/chapters/62600305#chapter_1_endnotes). list contains potential spoilers!!✧✧**
> 
> i hope you'll enjoy this work, because it comes straight from the heart!! ♡♡♡

It’s a Saturday afternoon when Felix feels his phone buzz, looking away from the cat cubbies to his cell with a frown. Ingrid is still kneeling down and cooing at them, urging a tabby to come out of its hiding place to play, so he ducks out of the room to answer the call.

“Hello?”

Though he hadn’t looked at the caller ID, there’s only a handful of people who would bother him on the weekend. It turns out to be Sylvain. “Hello, handsome. Happy Saturday.”

Felix taps his foot on the ground, closing his eyes, willing for patience. “Why do I get the feeling you’re about to ruin it for me?” He glances down at his watch. It’s only twelve in the afternoon.

“You wound me,” Sylvain chirps, his tone too high to be trusted, thus confirming Felix’s hypothesis. “Can’t I just call to see how the pet shopping is going?”

Felix usually dishes out no-nonsense business emails even when he’s supposed to be relaxing, so no, he doesn’t buy Sylvain’s flimsy lie about _checking in_ when they spoke to each other yesterday about their respective weekend plans. “If you’re stalling this much, it must be bad. Spit it out already.”

The silence stretches on, ten seconds feeling like ten terrible hours. Felix’s heart races, mentally preparing himself for the worst. Sylvain only gets this worked up over a few things, and there are even less of them he would bother _calling_ Felix about. “Dimitri’s in the hospital again,” he finally says. “It’s fine. The doctors say he’s stable, but he crashed at the office after storming past the security detail. His old psychiatrist issued a formal statement to make sure we know that he acted against medical advice. She’s protecting herself from a lawsuit.”

Felix curses under his breath. “I’ll kill him.”

Sylvain hums. Felix can practically see the humorless smile on the redhead’s face. “I think that would be counterproductive, all things considered.”

Felix lets out a heavy sigh, and Ingrid turns around from where she’d finally gotten the tabby to sniff her fingers, concerned about his temper from a distance. “I’ll be there in an hour or so.”

“Try not to be too angry when you get here.”

“Fuck that,” Felix snarls, and then he hangs up.

* * *

Dimitri looks less than pleased to see the three of them in his hospital room, but there’s no sense in having pity for him. He landed himself in here. _Again_.

Sylvain and Ingrid exchange pleasantries with Dimitri until Felix feels composed enough to talk without screaming. “I’m assuming you have a good excuse for all of this,” he starts, arms sternly folded over his chest.

Dimitri’s lone blue eye is glacial as he matches glares with Felix, long bangs drooping down his face without pomade in his hair to keep it tamed. “I had things to do.”

Felix would kick Dimitri, if he thought it would help—to beat the shit out of him until he coughs up blood since he seems so eager to die early. “You have heart problems and you won’t take your medicine. Stress makes it worse.”

“My stress levels are elevated because I have so many financial documents to revise.”

“Your blood pressure is elevated because you _won’t fucking sleep_ ,” Felix snaps. Sylvain has to put a hand on Felix’s shoulder to keep him from dragging out a pointless fight. The shorter man storms off to compose himself. Dimitri, too, scowls down at the sheets, the dark rings under his eye pronounced.

Ingrid pulls up a chair at Dimitri’s bedside, ever the nurturer of their group. “When was the last time you ate?”

He knows she isn’t asking about the snacks they’d practically forced him to choke down since he’d been admitted. “I don’t remember.”

She shares a sad look with Sylvain. He reads between the lines, joining her in the hallway outside Dimitri’s room to have a private, whispered counsel. “This is worse than the last time.”

Sylvain sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I know.”

Her green gaze is forlorn as she glances at the door. “Any ideas?”

He shakes his head. It feels like they’ve tried everything. “Not really.”

Sylvain knows he’s going to spend the evening researching, looking for _something_ , but right now he’s just exhausted. He loves Dimitri like a brother—more than his own brother, actually, who is an awful human being—but he’s only thirty-four and he’s already weary down to his bones, helplessly forced to watch Dimitri spiral out of control.

“I’ll think of something,” Sylvain says, because that’s his role in their four-person friendship, to create solutions.

* * *

It’s ruthlessly demanding to handle the affairs of Faerghus Incorporated without Dimitri for two weeks, but Sylvain and Felix are resourceful. They manage.

Oddly enough, it reminds them of the month Dimitri’s father died. At the time, the three of them had been startled to discover that the company’s board of executives had been so dependent on its primary founder, president, and CEO.

Dimitri, fresh out of college and with little experience under his belt, nothing to speak for himself except his exceptional grades, history of victories on the debate team, and his lineage, had stepped up to fill the power vacuum quickly. He’d shown himself admirably suited to the task.

For the most part.

Sylvain, Felix, and Ingrid have known Dimitri his whole life. They’d seen firsthand how much the untimely death of his mother, and then, not long after, his stepmother, had affected him. Even as a child, he’d had the tendency to push himself past the point of exhaustion to forget about the loneliness of the mansion, his father a well-respected man that Dimitri never had the gall to distract.

His tendency to dive headfirst into blackouts has only gotten worse with age. Now, because the work never ends, Dimitri has an excuse to never stop working.

Ingrid has always been fonder of horses than she is of numbers and corporate politics, so she leaves Sylvain and Felix to the miserable business of helping Dimitri stay afloat when the currents threaten to pull him under. It’s the least she can do, to be a balm for her significant others when they need somewhere else to go, an oasis where they can ride in the evenings, forget about the way their friend seems to be setting adrift at sea.

The three of them are out on the trails several weeks after Dimitri’s triumphant return when Sylvain announces his scheme. “I should take him to one of those _special_ clubs,” he says offhandedly, climbing off of his mare and petting her neck. “To unwind.”

Ingrid flushes pink at his words, stalking across the grass to jab him in the chest. “Sylvain Gautier, something is the matter with you. You can’t possibly have said what I think you said.”

“He’s not going to therapy,” Sylvain explains, undeterred, his tone lilting and high-humored. “We’d have to strap him to his bed to keep him from going to the office, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure he’s still not taking his meds. He can’t live off of coffee and energy drinks forever. Something’s gotta give, ‘Grid.”

Felix swings his boots out of the stirrups as he joins them, not quite as upset about the prospect as Sylvain was expecting him to be. “A BDSM club,” he says it slowly, like doing so will help him process things more thoroughly. “You’re going to take _Dimitri Blaiddyd_ to a BDSM club.”

“It’s private,” Sylvain replies, hoping to assuage their fears about the potential for scandal. “I know the owner of the place. Very discreet.”

Felix levels Sylvain with a flat stare. “Of course you do,” Felix dryly drawls. “Worth a try, I guess, if you think it’ll help.”

Ingrid groans, burying her face in her hands, red up to the tip of her ears. 

“C’mon,” the redhead says, slinging a sweaty arm across Felix’s shoulder. The shorter man glares at him in response. “Is there anyone you know who needs to expand his horizons more than Dimitri?”

“I refuse to talk about this,” Ingrid says, attempting to hurry back to her horse, Mercurius, her progress halted by Sylvain’s warm arm winding around her waist. “I’m going to drink bleach tonight, I swear, that’s how terrible the mental image was.”

He simply burrows himself in the snarling, tempestuous heat of Felix and the muttering, chiding lull of Ingrid’s voice, grinning against their riding clothes, pleased to have their permission.

* * *

Masterfully, Sylvain disguises the ordeal as a prospect for discovering new marketing concepts. “Leicester’s changed directions on commercial designs. I think everything Claude has to say will be enlightening.”

His ruse is made all the more convincing by Claude agreeing to meet them at the club, if only to encourage Dimitri to let down his guard. Dimitri likes Claude, as a person, and they’ve never had a problem keeping things friendly at the negotiating table.

Everything goes swimmingly. Sylvain rolls his eyes when Claude really _does_ start talking about his new ideas for Faerghus branding, but it distracts Dimitri long enough for them to wrangle him into a booth for drinks. The olive-skinned man sucks down a margarita before winking at Sylvain, noting the way that the club is slowly growing more populated as the hour creeps past seven o’clock. “I’ll forward you some examples in the morning,” Claude says, leaving a hefty tip on the table before slipping away. “I hope you have fun, Dimitri.”

His teasing tone tips the blonde off, drawing his attention to the club’s décor for the first time. It’s not so far from a lounge, plush leather seating and warm jazz playing overhead, but some of the booths have curtains drawn open. There are no tables in the center of the seats for drinks. “Why do I get the feeling that wasn’t the only reason you brought me here?”

“Probably because I’m infamous for being a bad influence on you,” Sylvain says, offering his friend a toothy grin. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Relax.”

It’s harder than it sounds, because Dimitri is as curious as he is reserved. He sips at his cocktail, distracted, watching the casual displays of power, men and women alike encouraging their submissives to yield. His breath catches when he sees someone in plainclothes drop to their knees, gray eyes pleading up at their dom, leaning into the hand cradling their jaw with their eyes fluttering closed.

Dimitri looks away and covers his lap, suddenly terrified that Sylvain will catch him popping a boner. “ _Relax_ ,” the redhead reminds him, idly swirling his whiskey around. “I brought you here to have a good time. I can go somewhere else, if it makes you feel better.”

Shyly, Dimitri nods, cheeks ruddy with shame. Sylvain makes off to the bar to clear out his tab before meandering off, telling Dimitri to call him if he needs anything.

Nobody is having sex out in the open, which is a relief. Dimitri doesn’t think he could handle it. But. It’s the little things. How the dominant partners do something so small as putting their hands on their submissives’ spines, how some of the submissives look so keen just to be there, to be helpful.

There’s no uniformity to them, either. Large, curvy men. Short, angular women. Nonbinaries, gender fluid individuals. It’s fascinating, the full gamut, so many shapes and sizes, all of them simply comfortable in their skin with _whatever_ this is.

Now, Dimitri is definitely half-hard, eternally grateful that Sylvain isn’t around to see him squirm. He doesn’t even know what it is about this place that’s gotten him so flustered. For the most part, the clientele here look like typical couples, if a bit more open about asking for what they want their partners to do.

“Hey,” a soft voice says. “Never seen you before, so you must be the new guy. You’re Sylvain’s friend, right?”

Dimitri looks up, slumping down a bit so that his groin’s not so exposed. “Er, yes,” he replies, stumbling over himself. “Dimitri,” he stutters, thankfully managing to remember his name through the haze.

“Byleth.” They give their name in return, voice warm and fond like Dimitri is an old friend. “Mind if I take a seat?”

He shakes his head, so Byleth sits down, hands folded on the table. There’s something soothing about the stranger, their eyes a cool blue-gray, refusing to stare at Dimitri’s eyepatch.

“Male, thirty-three, owner of the joint,” Byleth says. The introduction makes Dimitri feel horribly disappointed with himself, shoulders hunching up, though the tension is lessened by Byleth’s laughter. “Don’t worry. You’re not the first person to get confused about it. I’ve gotten used to getting the discussion over with right away.” Byleth unfastens the first few buttons of his shirt, revealing long-healed scars, unbothered.

“You shouldn’t have to prove anything,” Dimitri mutters, guilt lapping at his chest, the ugly whispers of his ghosts toying at all of his frayed edges. “To anybody, least of all me.”

Byleth shrugs. “It’s just something I do. No big deal.”

“Thank you for your patience.” Dimitri humbly bows his head. After a pause, he goes on. “It’s a lovely establishment. I don’t know much about these sorts of places,” and at that, he coughs, because it’s the understatement of the year, “but I like it.”

“I’m glad,” Byleth replies, turning to exchange pleasantries with the barkeep when she sweeps over to their booth with fresh drinks. “Anything in particular catch your eye?”

Dimitri rubs a finger across his nose, sheepish. “The people here are quite confident.”

Slyly, Byleth’s lips turn up. He takes a long sip of his beer without breaking eye contact. “Oh?”

The blonde fidgets in place, flicking his eye up to the ceiling to keep from spontaneously combusting. “I’ve never been in a long-term relationship,” he explains, once he’s gathered his wits well enough to speak. “I think it must be nice, to be so…”

“Trusting,” Byleth offers, perhaps more of a question than a statement.

“Yes,” Dimitri agrees.

After they share two rounds of drinks, Dimitri insists on paying, but Byleth simply raises his eyebrow. “It _is_ my place. I don’t have to pay.”

Dimitri feels embarrassed all over again, somehow unable to avoid pitfalls when talking to the owner of the club. Byleth reaches out to affectionately ruffle Dimitri’s hair, startling the blonde with the easy fondness of the gesture. He’s idly pleased that he’d cleaned it that morning; it’d been days since its previous wash. It’s really a miracle none of it has fallen out, given his horrible facsimile of self-care.

“Hope to see you again sometime,” Byleth says, and then he leaves, doubtlessly going to check on the other club patrons.

Dimitri fumbles to pull out his phone after he handsomely tips the bartender. In a matter of minutes, Sylvain emerges from wherever it is he’d been hiding to help Dimitri get back to the car, casting glances at his friend from the driver’s seat the whole ride back to the penthouse.

* * *

Felix nearly drops his nail polish when Sylvain tells him the news. Similarly, Ingrid’s fingers grow shock-still in Felix’s hair. “He’s going back next weekend?”

Sylvain laughs, a bright, blooming thing, a sound Ingrid and Felix haven’t heard from him a long time. “Apparently. I wasn’t exactly invited. He just asked me for the address and how to obtain a membership.”

Ingrid exhales slowly, shakily drawing a comb through Felix’s dark tresses. “Well. This is good, right? I think this is the first time he’s done anything for himself since he took up the job.”

Felix snorts. “He hasn’t done anything for himself since he was five years old.” The unfortunate truth of the statement makes all of them sad. “You didn’t force him to go to one of the scene rooms, did you?”

Ingrid’s eyes widen. “Felix, have you _been_?”

“Once or twice, and it wasn’t this place.” His nape grows flushed, playfully slapping her leg when she gasps. “That’s not the point. I’m just making sure the boar’s not biting off more than he can chew.”

Sylvain shakes his head. “I don’t think he did anything, just watched. Bartender said he met the owner and they had a couple drinks, that’s all.” The redhead plops down on the couch next to Ingrid, who automatically makes room for him, adjusting her legs so that they’re across his lap while she finishes plaiting Felix’s hair into a braid. “I gotta admit, I expected him to be pissed with me. I’m happy, but.”

Ingrid stares into the middle distance, a forlorn expression on her face. “You keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

The three of them grow silent for a moment. “Yeah,” Sylvain says at last, the mood in their apartment sober. “Alright, enough about Dimitri. I’m tired, and horny, and he’s too complicated to figure out.”

Felix flashes a wicked smile up at the redhead. “One day, I’m going to tell him you said that.”

* * *

Dimitri dresses down for his second visit, freshly-showered and groomed for some reason.

“Maybe you’ll find someone,” Sylvain had teased when Dimitri mentioned revisiting the club.

 _Ridiculous_.

Still, regardless of the far-fetched idea, he dons his favorite blue button-down and combs his hair into submission, refraining from using the pomade. Dimitri remembers the way Byleth had run his fingers through his bangs the week prior, flushing pink at one of the bar’s high-top tables.

The same bartender is there to greet him, a small woman with a glint in her eyes, hair dyed platinum blonde. “Welcome back,” she says, and Dimitri pays attention when she introduces herself this time. Lysithea is talented, able to whip up drinks quickly after her guests and coworkers order them.

He jumps when a hand softly lands on his shoulder, a reflex honed from his past. “Sorry,” Byleth says, hopping on the chair opposite of Dimitri with one of his faint little smiles. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Dimitri shakes his head. It’s his own fault he’s so skittish, not Byleth’s. “It’s okay. It’s a problem I’ve been meaning to deal with.”

Byleth quirks a dark brow. “What happened?”

For a moment, Dimitri contemplates hedging around the truth, but Byleth has been so forthcoming with him that he decides to share. “I had a caretaker, once. An older woman named Cornelia.” Sometimes, she haunts his dreams, her strawberry blonde curls falling into his eye as she touches him. “She took advantage of her position. Of me.”

Byleth offers him a somber look. Graciously, he doesn’t seem to think any less of Dimitri for the admittance, and he doesn’t press for more gruesome details. “I see,” he says, ordering a beer from Lysithea when she stops by their table.

His easy acceptance makes more of Dimitri’s dark history fall from his lips. “It was my mother’s murder that truly shattered my ability to trust people. Cornelia could be cruel, but never so dark as death.” Dimitri babbles out a hoarse apology, tears threatening to spring to his eye. “I was there, when they shot her. Got blood all over my clothes.”

“Shit,” Byleth hisses, brow furrowed in sympathetic pain. “That’s fucked up.”

The blonde laughs self-deprecatingly. “I suppose.”

Byleth’s long fingers toy with the rim of the beer glass before he speaks again. “You don’t usually let anyone touch you, then?”

He can see it in Byleth’s eyes that he feels remorseful for invading Dimitri’s space last week. Dimitri blusters his way through a different kind of confession. “I didn’t mind. I mean.” He tries to clamp his stupid mouth shut, palms sweaty. “I liked it.”

Byleth blinks up at him, relief palpable in his soft expression. Dimitri thinks that he’d like to see Byleth smiling more often. “I’m glad.” Given all but express permission, Byleth reaches forward to tuck Dimitri’s hair behind his ears. “Any ideas about which category you fall into?”

Dimitri sips at his drink, genuinely confused. “I’m afraid I don’t understand the question.”

“You could be a dominant, a submissive, or a switch,” Byleth clarifies. Dimitri almost breaks the martini glass in his hands in response. The shorter man chuckles. “I figured you’d be mostly undecided for now, especially since you haven’t scheduled a viewing.”

The blonde swallows hard, feeling sweat prick at the back of his neck. “I wasn’t aware that there were such services available.” Admittedly, when he’d browsed the website, the only thing he’d been interested in had been paying for an annual club card. “What do they entail?”

Byleth hums, sparing a moment to lick beer foam off of his upper lip, eyes roving across the lounge. “This is just the playroom. A lot of people only come here to show off, flaunt their status. If they’re tempted to take off their clothes, we encourage them to sit in the booths over on the left. Gives them a modicum of privacy without draining their wallets dry. If they stain the seats, though, there’s a hefty surcharge on the bill.”

Weakly, Dimitri says, “I see,” feeling lightheaded all of the sudden.

Byleth fixes him with a stare, seeing straight through the blonde, but he doesn’t call Dimitri’s bluff. “Scenes get their name from the theatre. The participants specify the rules ahead of time, though. They don’t _usually_ have scripted lines. Everybody has a different method for what determines the end of the scene. For the most part, the dom calls it, or somebody says their safeword and it’s over. The back has private rooms, for people who don’t like an audience, but some people get off on the thrill of being watched. I book appointments so the viewings don’t get too crowded.”

If he’d been dazed before, now Dimitri is woozy. “It all sounds so complicated.”

The other man shrugs, placing his empty glass back on the coaster. “It can be, at first. Partnerships, just like relationships, don’t always last forever. Learning all the running rules with a new person takes time.” Byleth hums, leaning back in his chair. “It’s worth it, though. To be with someone you’ve learned inside and out.”

Something rotten looms in the pit of Dimitri’s stomach at that. “Are you. Do you.” He fumbles with his question for so long that Byleth laughs at him.

“I am unfortunately single,” Byleth replies, sighing the words out with a touch of drama. “Things didn’t work out.”

“Oh,” Dimitri says. “Apologies, for assuming.”

Byleth waves him off, no skin off his back. “It was a long time ago. I’ve been busy since then, if you couldn’t tell.”

 _Right_ , Dimitri thinks. Running a business like this must come with its own litany of terrors.

“You never answered my question,” Byleth reminds him, his tone nonchalant, as though he doesn’t really mind whether Dimitri answers him or not. “Any ideas?”

The blonde shakes his head. “Not yet.”

“Fair enough.” Byleth stands up, lips quirked up in another small smile for his guest. “See you soon,” he says, sparing another moment to toy with Dimitri’s hair.

He lets out a heavy exhale when Byleth is out of sight, feeling hopelessly out of his depth at this place, much as he had on his first visit. “What on earth am I doing?” Dimitri mutters the question to himself, blood pumping loudly in his ears as he makes his way to the bar to close out his tab.

* * *

A few weeks later, on a Friday, Dimitri closes his laptop at seven.

When Felix hears heavy footsteps in the hall, he pokes his head out of the door, certain that Sylvain has come to pester him about something insignificant yet again. He already has a retort ready for the redhead, the words on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he almost breaks the handle when he sees who’s heading towards the elevator. “You’re going home?”

Dimitri frowns at that, adjusting the weight of his briefcase in his hand. “You’re the one who’s always fussing that I spend too much time here.”

Bewildered, Felix shakes his head. “I mean, yeah. You do.”

“Did you have something you needed to discuss with me?”

“No. God, _no_ ,” Felix replies, an emphatic denial. “I’d be happier if you would leave your computer here, but I know you’d sooner die than do that.”

The blonde’s eye narrows, glaring at his old friend. “Something could come up.”

“Nothing that couldn’t wait ‘til Monday.” They have a stare-off that Felix breaks first, not in the mood to fight today. “Fine, fine, whatever. Baby steps, and all that.”

Dimitri warily glances back at Felix for a moment, unsure what that whole exchange was about, and then he presses the elevator’s down button. Felix barely waits for the silver door to close before he rushes over to Sylvain’s office.

“Sylvain,” Felix says breathlessly, watching as the redhead looks away from the screen, glare-reducing reading glasses perched on the bridge of his aristocratic nose. “You’ll never believe this.”

Ingrid nearly chokes on her popcorn when they tell her later, some brainless action movie they’ve all seen before playing in the background. “I know,” Sylvain says, patting her back as she sputters. “We went to go make sure, just in case it was a hallucination.”

Felix groans, fixing the redhead with a look. “You’re going to be insufferable now, aren’t you?”

“I haven’t the faintest clue what you mean, my dear,” Sylvain replies, batting his eyelashes innocently. Felix throws a pillow at his face.

The woman sandwiched between them looks at Felix and Sylvain, brow furrowed in confusion. “He’s still going to the club?”

Sylvain’s responding grin is toothy and flashy. “Get this. He showers and shaves on the weekends now. Or, well, at least he does on Saturdays. I know it’s not much, but. It’s something.” He sounds proud of Dimitri’s accomplishment. Ingrid and Felix are too, honestly. It’s more than they could say their friend has been doing for the last five years, maybe ten. “He asked me to cut his hair. I told him you two were better at it because you usually do it, but he insisted.”

Ingrid knows that Sylvain tends to downplay his strengths, so she pinches his thigh hard enough to make him yelp. “I’m sure it looked fine.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “You didn’t cut so much off that it looks _drastic_ or anything. Nobody can tell under all of his product.” He waits for a beat, then frowns. “Does he go to the club with it slicked back?”

The redhead shrugs. “I don’t think so, but I’m not sure. He was worried about having split ends when I gave him a trim. _Dimitri_.”

His declaration makes something hopeful bloom in their chests.

They know there’s bound to be a crash in the future; there always is, with him. Still, this is promising. The three of them can only hope that the high doesn’t wear off too fast.

* * *

It takes four more weeks for Dimitri to build up his courage, joining the small crowd mingling in front of the one-way window. Byleth explains that two of the exhibition chambers have them, for the doms who don’t want their submissives to be distracted by the viewers, and the other two don’t, for those who want to show the audience how well their partners can behave.

“Most of the subs in the rooms are collared,” Byleth says, his voice hushed as he passes around a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Dimitri blinks down at him, lost, and the other man smiles. “It means they’re kept. Loyal. It’s sort of like a kinky engagement ring.” The blonde sputters. Byleth snickers.

To avoid further embarrassment, he turns to the front of the room, studying the easy body language of the two women on the other side of the glass. “I don’t see either of them wearing anything around their necks.”

Byleth leans close to him, causing Dimitri to bend down so they’re closer to eye-level, skin warm where their arms are touching through the fabric of their clothes. “See that bracelet?” Dimitri follows Byleth’s line of sight and nods, his lone eye taking in the details from afar. It’s a beautiful piece of jewelry, shimmering under the room’s bright spotlight. “That’s Marianne’s collar. Don’t believe everything you see online. It’s not all about leather, whips, and chains in the community.”

Dimitri peels back a little, his ears a rosy pink. “Understood,” he mumbles, fervently wishing he could disappear.

They’re quiet for the rest of the negotiation phase, Byleth only speaking again when the spotlight flickers off, the lower lights on the floor keeping the space well-lit, but not overly so. It sets a romantic mood.

Dimitri watches things unfold with bated breath.

The pink-haired woman, who Byleth whispers is named Hilda, coaxes her sub down onto the floor, not quite pushing Marianne as she skims her left palm down the taller woman’s side. Marianne bites her bottom lip to keep quiet as Hilda roams about the room, thighs pressed together in anticipation. When Hilda comes back to her, she has two clamps in her hands, fastening them on Marianne’s pert breasts, her feet bare as she presses one sole to the meat of Marianne’s shoulder blade.

In the audience chamber, the surveyors are buzzing with low chatter, all of them entertained by the warm affection and dominance Hilda offers Marianne. “Say please,” she says, and it's obviously an order, one that Marianne obeys even with her cheek pressed to the faux-wooden vinyl paneled floor.

Suddenly, the blood in Dimitri’s brain rushes out of it in a hurry. He clutches a hand to his chest, pulse thundering wildly out of a control. Already, Marianne looks half gone, Hilda’s fingers damp when she drags her hand across Marianne’s groin.

Hilda sits on the small of Marianne’s back, the blue-haired woman breathing heavily at the weight. “Twenty,” she says, and Marianne shivers, acquiescing easily.

She counts aloud as she smacks the blue-haired woman’s ass, alternating cheeks with each swing, delighting in the way Marianne bows her spine with the pleasure of the pain, struggling to keep her balance on her wobbling knees and sweaty palms.

As soon as Hilda is finished, she steps back. “Take a break.” Marianne thanks her for that, skin red, lips parted while she catches her breath. After a few minutes, she grabs Marianne’s wrist, rubbing the bracelet Byleth had pointed out to Dimitri earlier. _Her collar_. The two of them have a silent exchange before Hilda moves, lifting Marianne’s arms above her head, binding them with a soft cloth she’d left near the center of the stage for this purpose.

Hilda pulls at the clamp on Marianne’s left nipple until the taller woman howls, helpless to hold back the sound. “You’re doing great,” Hilda says, cradling the curve of Marianne’s breast for a moment, enamored by the puckered, irritated look to the portion of her skin currently pinched between the clamps. Marianne pants restlessly beneath her ministrations, but she does not _squirm_. She waits and waits, endlessly patient, for anything that Hilda is willing to give. “Would you like my fingers?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Marianne says, voice hoarse with desire.

Dimitri has to close his eye for a minute, momentarily blinded with whatever strange feeling is coursing through his veins at her confession. Idly, he wonders if he’s ever truly satisfied any of his past lovers, if this is what satisfaction is supposed to look like. Surely, none of them had ever sounded so wrung-out in bed, before _or_ after they’d had sex.

Hilda’s motions are well-practiced, left hand deftly searching for Marianne’s clit and rubbing her folds. She pulls the clamp on the right breast as Marianne’s moans grow louder and louder, ostensibly certain that her partner is about to come.

It’s beautiful, the whole act. Dimitri has to restrain himself from reaching out and touching the glass, as if doing so would draw him into that world of oblivion.

Hilda pulls the clamps off afterwards, reaching for wipes and handily tugging Marianne up into her arms. It surprises Dimitri—she’s much stronger than she looks.

When the chamber has cleared out, Byleth turns to Dimitri. “What did you think?”

He stares ahead blankly, realizing that the cleaning staff members have already set to sanitizing everything. “I don’t think I have the words to explain.”

* * *

Dimitri doesn’t usually spend more than an hour at the club, but Byleth notices his foggy, distanced demeanor after the viewing. He softly encourages the blonde to come drink some water at the bar.

Ahead of them are Hilda and Marianne, the stars of the show now dressed, the former tittering away with Lysithea about something. The pink-haired woman inhales sharply. “Byleth, you dog, where have you been hiding him? He’s _cute_.”

Byleth rolls his eyes, taking a seat. “Hello to you too.” Dimitri offers Hilda a watery smile for her compliment, still dazed. “This is Dimitri. He’s still rather new to the community. Be nice,” Byleth says, putting a warning edge to his tone.

Hilda hums, reading between the lines. “It’s a lot to take in at first,” she says, her smile bright in a different way than it had been in the room. “Be honest. You thought we were hot, right?”

Marianne sputters next to her partner. “Hilda,” she whimpers, cheeks stained. Though she’s embarrassed by the pink-haired woman’s bold question, she doesn’t mind their partnership being admired.

“Er,” Dimitri stalls, some of the buzzing clearing out of his head, unsure how he should answer.

“I think he enjoyed the show,” Byleth says, offering him an out. He nods, sighing in relief.

Hilda whines. “Byleth, you always say half-baked stuff to me. Where is all the pizzazz? The spark?” She slings an arm over Marianne’s shoulder like it’s so easy, her smile widening as the blue-haired woman nuzzles into Hilda’s collarbone.

Byleth snorts, taking a hefty swig of beer. “You don’t need me to inflate your ego. It’s already the size of a house.”

“That’s because I’m cute.”

“Yes, yes, very cute,” Byleth agrees, flippantly shooing her off like a pest. The motion draws a chuckle out of Dimitri that quickly becomes a low laugh, unable to hold back his amusement.

“Sorry,” he says, snickering from behind his hand, covering his mouth so he doesn’t spit water all over the countertop. Once he’s swallowed, he puts it down, holding his jaw to muffle his lingering chuckles. When he’s more composed, he explains himself. “It’s just. I’ve never known Byleth to be anything other than polite. The two of you must be very close.”

Hilda flashes a v for victory. “Of course. My shows are always sold out, you know. Byllie here wouldn’t know what to do without me.”

“I’d finally be able to rest in peace,” Byleth quips back. Marianne is the one to giggle at his words this time.

The four of them chatter about their lives outside of the club, becoming fast friends. When Byleth sees Dimitri off to the door later, he takes a moment to make sure the blonde is okay, just in case.

He leans up to tuck Dimitri’s bangs behind his ears outside of the club’s entryway, relishing in the warm gesture that’s become their little routine. “My father died sixteen years ago,” Byleth says, launching into a story apropos of nothing. The words draw Dimitri fully out of his lingering fog so that he can give the shorter man his attention. “He told me about all the rough shit he had to do to survive when he was young. Said there shouldn’t be any secrets between us.”

His gray-blue eyes roam away from Dimitri as he reminisces, a soft smile speaking volumes to the fond memories on his lips.

“I came out to him when I was twelve. He helped me get on T. The two of us weren’t big talkers, but we understood each other.” Idly, Byleth shoves his hands into his pockets, turning to find that Dimitri’s blue eye is staring at him with emotions so raw, he can hardly stand to hold the blonde’s gaze. “It was somebody from an old rival gang who did him in. I found his body in the parking lot, a bullet put through his head while he was waiting for me to come back with groceries.”

Dimitri swallows hard, a bitter laugh slipping out of his mouth. “It’s a miserable feeling, isn’t it?”

Byleth’s eyes are glossy. “Yes.”

They stand there in companionable silence until Dimitri has to move out of the doorway to let a couple head for the parking lot. “Thank you,” he murmurs, reaching out to squeeze Byleth’s hand in the tender way that he has touched so few people before. “For telling me.”

“Give and take,” Byleth teases, a wry grin on his face. “You help me, I help you.”

Dimitri simply shakes his head at that, because he can’t find anything intelligent to say in response.

* * *

Once a month, Sylvain, Ingrid, and Felix rotate the generally useless duty of asking Dimitri to hang with them. It’s Ingrid’s turn on the final Sunday of July. She nearly drops her phone when she hears what he says.

“Could you repeat that one more time?” Her green eyes are wide, unable to keep the reckless smile off of her face.

“I said _okay_ , Ingrid,” Dimitri replies, exasperated at her antics. “It has been a while since we all did something together.”

She huffs. “Yeah, it was last Christmas, and that only happened because I dragged you guys back to the apartment after a Faerghus work function.” At that, she hangs up the phone, telling Dimitri that she has to go get Sylvain and Felix up and get dressed.

Giddily, Ingrid jumps on the bed, disrupting Sylvain’s snores and prying Felix’s sleepy hand off of the waistband of the redhead’s boxers. “C’mon, losers, Dimitri said he’s going to hang out with us this afternoon.”

Felix is the first one to yawn, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and stretching his back. He asks, “What time,” and then it dawns on him what she’d actually said. “Wait, what?”

“I know, I know,” Ingrid says, tone bubbly as she rubs against him, the soft sensation of her curves on his skin a pleasure that he wishes he had more of the morning to appreciate. “I’m so excited, Felix.” She punctuates the exclamation with a wet kiss against his cheek, sticking out her tongue when his hair gets caught in her mouth. “Ugh. You need a haircut.”

Sylvain groans when Ingrid accidentally kicks him, freckled skin still smarting from all the scrapes and hickeys strewn across his body. “It’s too early _._ ” Felix and Ingrid fix him with withering, pitiless stares, because they are morning people and he is not. With a sigh, Sylvain drags his sorry ass into the bathroom, mechanically brushing his teeth, going through the motions with his eyes half-closed.

Later, they find Dimitri at the square, and he looks— _good_. He’s still far too skinny, and he has crow’s feet digging into his face, but with his hair up in a loose bun and stylish clothing on, he’s downright handsome. He’s miles away from the man who’d been hospitalized three months ago.

Felix is the first one to break out of their synchronized stupor to say something. “Amazingly, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, you don’t look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks,” Dimitri sarcastically drawls his reply, lips quirked up into a smile. “What shall we do first?”

“I vote for getting bubble tea,” Ingrid chirps, latching her arm into the crook of Sylvain’s elbow before he can wander off to flirt with a nearby group of girls. They’re staring at a map of the city in confusion, and he has every intention to come to their rescue as a knight in shining armor.

They flit from shop to shop, purchasing trinkets and clothes. Felix and Dimitri argue over the finer points of Bluetooth speakers while Sylvain darts off to secretly buy his boyfriend a new bottle of nail polish, Ingrid watching the three of them with rosy cheeks.

When they finally start to slow down, she brings them to the best place she knows in town, a tiny brick-oven pizza parlor. Inside, it looks more like a fancy deli than a restaurant. “My three favorite boys all in one place,” she says, setting her chin on her folded hands.

There’s a pause, for a moment, where Dimitri fidgets, unsure of how best to explain his gratitude to the three of them. After all these years, they’ve remained steadfast, always supporting him even at his lowest points, where he’d been cold and vicious. At times, he’s given them _very_ little reason to care.

“Thank you, for not giving up on me,” Dimitri says at last. He rubs the back of his head while he stares off to the side, humbled. “I know I’m not the easiest person to stay friends with.”

Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid whip their heads around to stare at him, stunned to hear him admit it.

“Okay,” Sylvain says, nervously jabbing his finger in Dimitri’s face, “What on earth has gotten into you? Do you have cancer? Did somebody break into the office?”

Dimitri’s blue eye narrows at his awful assumptions. “No, Sylvain. I would have thought that you, of all people, would be preening after introducing me to the club. I’ve found a _hobby_.”

The tension breaks when Felix suddenly guffaws, bellowing out deep belly laughs, consequentially wiping tears out of his eyes while Sylvain and Dimitri glare at him. “This is the craziest shit I’ve ever seen,” he wheezes, barely refraining from slapping the table in his glee.

Ingrid clears her throat to restore some semblance of order to their gathering. “These two told me about your…hobby,” she says, and Dimitri, at least, has the decency to bury his face and groan at that. “Are they good to you? They don’t take things too far?”

He shakes his head at the second question, a blush spreading down to his neck. “I’m not an active participant, just a spectator. The club’s regulars are very kind.” Something dawns on him. “Sylvain, did you ask the owner to look after me?”

“No, ‘course not,” Sylvain says, frowning a little. “Why d’you ask?”

“He’s very,” Dimitri starts, and then stops, unable to find the words. “Never mind.”

“Now I’m curious.” The redhead hums, waggling his eyebrows at the blonde. “I found out about the place from a friend of a friend, went to scope it out a while back. Figured it wouldn’t be too overbearing for you.” He smiles as Dimitri’s shoulders fall, backing down from his ever-present desire to start fights. “I reached out to him, got a temporary pass. Let him know I’d be bringing a guest. That’s all.”

“You sound like you were worried he had ulterior motives. That he was keeping an eye on you as a favor.” Ingrid, who has always been the most emotionally aware of the four of them, gasps. “You like him.”

Dimitri halts in panic, mouth dry. “What?”

She presses forward, eager for the juicy details now that she’s latched onto the scent of gossip. “I don’t think you’ve seriously liked anyone since Julian back in eighth grade. What’s he look like? How old is he?” She’s so wrapped up in bombarding him with inquiries that she doesn’t see the way Dimitri is shutting down, throwing up his walls.

 _Abort, abort, abort_. The hissing in his brain is louder than a train whistle, blocking out all of his friends’ attempts to call out to him. 

As he leaps off of the bench where he’d been sitting next Ingrid, his mother’s arms wrap around his ankles, slowing his progress as he attempts to run to the station. His father’s bulk is draped over his shoulders, the low murmur of his stepmother whispering _we’re always watching you_ rumbling through his brain.

He’d forgotten them, if only temporarily. Not always, for his nightmares are still numerous, but. The last three months, he hadn’t spent his every _waking_ moment burying himself in emails, doing something, anything, to keep them satisfied.

 _You like him_ , the cacophony of voices jabs at him, repeating the phrase over and over again, the sound growing more and more shrill with every iteration. He curls up on the bathroom floor of his penthouse minutes later, pounding on his legs in the hope that the pain will distract him from the voices.

Back at the pizzeria, Ingrid sobs, putting her hand down from where she’d thrust it out to reach for Dimitri. “I’m sorry. He was just doing so well.” She hiccups.

Felix and Sylvain wrap her in a joint embrace, the brunette scowling. “Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault. You know how he is.”

Sylvain pulls away with a heavy exhale, leaving Felix to run his hand up and down Ingrid’s back alone. He scrolls down his never-ending list of contacts to find Byleth’s number, hoping that his texted request won’t make the situation any worse than it already is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everything in this story is _very_ big on Safe, Sane, and Consensual!!! that being said:
> 
> **✧✧FULL LIST OF CONTENT WARNINGS✧✧**
> 
> →(i feel like this should be obvious, but) bdsm community language, including collaring, dominants, submissives, etc. slave/master language IS NEVER USED IN THIS FIC  
> →depression/suicidal mentions  
> →vaginal fingering (there's a lesbian sex scene)  
> →dissociative episodes (dimitri); these occur OUTSIDE of bdsm scenes, with his personal issues  
> →shibari demonstration
> 
> that's pretty much it!!! ♡ if you haven't read the fic yet, i hope you'll enjoy it. if you have, i hope you did!! ♡
> 
> have a great day!! ♡♡♡
> 
> ♠[tumblr](http://quillifer.tumblr.com/)♠  
> ♠[twitter](https://twitter.com/quillifer)♠


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the full list of fic content/warnings, please see **[the chapter 1 end notes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25774906/chapters/62600305#chapter_1_endnotes)**. ♡♡♡
> 
> hope you enjoy chapter 2!! ♡
> 
> ** **edit aug 30:** now including illustrations by the fabulously talented **[eutt on twitter](https://twitter.com/Eutt1)**! give her a follow and commission the heck out of her! ♡♡♡♡

Dimitri nearly jumps out of his skin when the chime rings.

It’s not all that surprising for Felix, Ingrid, or Sylvain to come and make sure he hasn’t choked on his vomit at night after one of his episodes, or worse. What’s odd is that they’ve gone a whole week without coming to the penthouse.

Sylvain and Felix have exchanged terse greetings with him at the office, at least. They’d maintained an air of professionalism at their meeting on Monday, but the two of them have also gone out of the way to avoid talking to their boss more than they have to.

He steels himself to face whoever’s at the door, the one who’s pulled the short end of the stick for Dimitri-duty this time. It’s a hassle to tighten his robe as he stands up from his desk, aiming for the slightest air of propriety.

He types in the code, listening as the electrical lock slides open without bothering to check the peephole or the security footage. That’s why his stomach bottoms out to find Byleth on the other side of the door, offering Dimitri a small smile as he waves. “Hey.”

Dimitri stares blankly at Byleth, anxiety rollicking through his core. “Hello.” He knows he looks a right mess, his poor state further highlighted by the fact that he can’t manage to say anything else. After far too long a pause to be comfortable, he coughs, sweeping his arm out in an invitation. “Please, come in. Apologies about the mess.”

There are huge stacks of papers scattered across the floorboards, dozens of dirty coffee mugs drained dry with no plates or takeout boxes in sight. Byleth is too polite to comment on any of it, simply sidestepping the obstacles to set his bag down on the couch. “It was weird, not seeing you yesterday,” he says at last, demeanor calm and steady as he finally moves to initiate their adopted little greeting. Dimitri leans down and Byleth hums, long fingers tucking his blonde hair behind his ears.

Dimitri feels like a disappointment when he sees the grease that comes off on Byleth’s hand, Patricia’s once-balming voice hissing at him that he’s a failure in the back of his mind. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, digging his nails into the flesh of his right arm, squeezing his eye shut so hard that he feels a burst of white light behind his eye. “It’s dirty.”

Byleth cradles a hand against his jaw, fingers scrubbing against Dimitri’s stubble. “It’s okay,” he says, and Dimitri warms at that, letting out a long breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “Would you like me to wash it for you?”

The blonde sputters, his blue eye widening in alarm. “No, no, I couldn’t ask you to do that.” _How humiliating_ , he thinks. The shorter man shouldn’t feel obligated to help him clean up his act, literally or figuratively.

“I want to, though,” Byleth murmurs, a stubborn set to his jaw that causes Dimitri to briefly avoid the brunette’s gaze, pale cheeks burning. Byleth adjusts his fingers by a fraction of an inch, ever-so-slightly encouraging Dimitri to look back down and bite his lip.

Dimitri has long since considered himself more insane than not—perhaps, then, it is the lunatic in him that takes hold of his faculties in that moment. “Okay,” he whispers, leading Byleth to the bathroom.

There isn’t much clutter in the hallways, thankfully. The two of them pad through the penthouse in silence, the soft sound of Byleth’s footsteps on the wood reminding Dimitri that the shorter man is following him. He flicks on the switch, sleek lines and minimalist pieces decorating the space, features that his real estate agent had assured him to be the trendiest on the market while giving him a tour of the place.

The jacuzzi tub is designed for two people, though Dimitri had rolled his eye at it years ago, little waterproof black cushions on the right side and faux-gold spigots for the pressurized water flow glimmering against the porcelain. Though it hasn’t been used much, his cleaning staff keeps everything in here sparkling.

Once he closes the door behind them, he finds himself at a loss. Byleth, sure as the seasons, sweeps over to Dimitri’s side, resting a hand against the blonde’s lower back. “I’ll run the water,” Byleth says, his voice low. “Do you have any bath salts? Soap?”

Dimitri has half a mind to reflexively shake his head _no_ , but he remembers an old Christmas present from Ingrid he’d thrown into the back of a cabinet. “Let me see,” he replies, thankful to have something to do with his trembling hands. It takes him a few minutes to dig out the gift basket, still untouched, plastic wrapping neatly tied with a bow at the top.

He takes his time sorting through the variety of things in the package, most of which are foreign to him. Bath bombs, which he vaguely recalls are all the rage. Essential oils. A bottle of lilac-scented, bubble-forming soap. Epsom salt.

The blonde has no idea what he’s done to deserve such serendipitous generosity, but he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. If he lets himself devolve into asking questions of _why me_ , the internal torture will never end, and right now, at least, the ghosts are quiet.

In a way, it’s almost like they’re _frightened_ of Byleth. Dimitri doesn’t understand why. Byleth is like the ocean at low tide, gently lapping on the shores. A lighthouse in the dark.

 _Ghosts can only survive in the shadows_ , his brain unhelpfully supplies. He shakes his head to clear it.

Somewhere in the midst organizing the bounty, he’d apparently dissociated and lost track of time, because the next thing he knows, Byleth is placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, smiling down at the blonde kneeling on the floor.

Dimitri blinks the fog away, startled to discover that Byleth’s legs are bare. They’re _shapely_. It’s obvious that the shorter man gets far more exercise than Dimitri does, and likely out in the sun, given by the healthy glow of Byleth’s tan. “Bath’s ready if you are,” he says, a twinkle in his dark eyes.

Dimitri nods, taking Byleth’s hand when the man offers it.

There’s something earthy about the way the water smells, a bit like trees, flowers, and fresh laundry. He’s about to dip in a toe when he hears Byleth giggle. “You might want to take off your robe first,” the shorter man says, quirking an eyebrow up at him.

He mumbles to himself as he does so, embarrassed. The bright blue woolen fabric tumbles to the floor gracelessly. He’s about to pull his briefs down before he turns around, lips set in an inquisitive frown. “Do you mind?”

Byleth shakes his head. “Of course not.”

That settled, he sinks into the water, the temperature just a _little_ too hot, though he quickly adjusts. He sighs, delighted by the way he’s encapsulated in the bath. Byleth takes another moment to sit on the ledge of the tub, carrying Dimitri’s shampoo and conditioner with him. “I’m sure you can afford something better than _Head and Shoulders_ , Dimitri.”

He chuckles. “I’m not picky about my products.”

“Shame,” Byleth says, legs coming to rest on either side of Dimitri’s slim torso. “You’ve got gorgeous hair.”

He’s fortunate that the water is hot enough to cover up his intuitive flush at the compliment. “Thanks.”

Byleth hums to himself as he works, taking several minutes to scoop the water onto Dimitri’s shoulders, content just to remind the blonde that he’s there. When Dimitri’s eyelid begins to droop, Byleth coos at him, turning on the jacuzzi spouts so the jets create eddies around his long limbs. He angles Dimitri’s neck down a bit, just enough to get his blonde locks wet, and then lets him relax again, powerful thighs on either side of Dimitri’s skull.

When Byleth starts to lather the shampoo, digging his fingertips into Dimitri’s scalp, the blonde moans. Delightfully, the sound makes Byleth laugh. “That feel good?”

“Mm,” he replies, making an affirmative noise in the back of his throat.

They don’t speak for the remainder of Dimitri’s soak, simply enjoying each other’s company. By the time Byleth makes to rinse the conditioner out of his hair, Dimitri is half asleep, barely able to hold the towel up on his waist while he leads the way to his bedroom.

He sits down on the mattress, a week’s worth of fatigue catching up to him in minutes. The sheets are unperturbed because he hasn’t been _in_ his bed for days. Long tendrils of blonde hair fan out on the pillows, patted down but still damp when Byleth toys with it. “Why did you let me touch you that first night?” Byleth asks, slipping under the covers beside him like he’s done it a dozen times before, casual as can be.

Dimitri closes his eyes, searching for the words to say. “I’m not sure. I suppose it was because you weren’t expecting anything of me when you did it.”

His memory of past trysts is foggy at best. There had been a few women eager to steal from his father’s coffers by licking at his shaft, crying out his name while lovemaking, determined to try and kiss him, though he’d adamantly refused their advances. Several men had asked Dimitri to slide inside of them, fast and brutal, knowing that he was good for a quick fuck in a dirty bathroom stall, pleased to see the nasty, vicious side of him slip out.

He’d left each experience more drained than the last. He’d forced himself to be a version of himself he hates for the sake of their pleasure.

“Sometimes, when you touch me, it drowns out all the noise in my head,” Dimitri says, words starting to blur together, his drowsiness making communication difficult. “If only things could always be so simple.”

Whether Byleth audibly agrees with him or not, Dimitri doesn’t know, because he promptly drifts off to sleep.

* * *

Dimitri hasn’t fallen into a dreamless rest since his early childhood, days spent running around with his friends in the yard until he’d come home muddy and exhausted, collapsing on the couch in his shoes, which his mother had fussed at him about.

The nights at the hospital had been stressful, every hour spent hovered over by nurses and security detail at every corner. Several psychiatrists had tried, in vain, to help him find something to ease his nerves, to keep him from waking up the other patients on the ward with his screams in the dead of night, scratching at the bandages over the right side of his face.

He remembers waking up one afternoon to see his father crying. Though opioids made it difficult to stay awake, the vision had stuck with him. He’d never seen the man be anything less than fully composed.

But. There had been good times through all of the bad. The first eyepatch his friends had purchased for him had been tacky and oddly-patterned, but he’d worn it all the same, sharing knowing smiles with them in their shared classes. His father’s second marriage had been beautiful, and Patricia had been lovely, patting tears out of her eyes, hugging Dimitri tightly in her arms. “I’m lucky to have you as a son,” she had said, introducing him to her own daughter with breathless joy.

He wakes up with tears on his lashes, finding Byleth singing under his breath while petting his hair. “Good morning,” the other man says, slowly brushing his thumb against Dimitri’s cheek to wipe it dry. It takes a moment for Dimitri to realize that Byleth has a book in his left hand, making headway through an old history tome. “Hope you don’t mind if I borrow this.”

“Of course not,” he mumbles, speech still slurred with the dregs of sleep. “What are you doing here?”

Byleth quirks a brow. “Did you want me to leave?”

“No,” Dimitri quickly says, hoping his tone doesn’t come across as too desperate. “I only meant—” He cuts himself off, processing powers returning as he realizes the sun is streaming in through the windows. “How did you get past security?”

The shorter man laughs. “Felix said you would say that. Apparently, Sylvain called ahead for me, gave them my photo. Wheedled them into letting me come up. He told the staff that you had a panic button and a cell phone if you really needed anything. Apparently, the chief officer agreed.”

Dimitri lets out a short chuckle at that. Dedue could be a hard man to convince, but after all these years as tenant and watchman, they are something like friends, keeping tabs on each other’s affairs when they manage to find the time. “That’s sounds about right.” He stretches before reaching for his phone, the time reading _six-forty-seven a.m._ He has an hour before he has to get ready for work. “Was everything alright at the club without you last night?”

“I don’t live there, you know,” Byleth says, closing the book he’d been reading. “It’s not busy on Sundays, and I wanted to be here. Don’t worry.”

The two of them pad down the hall to the kitchen, Byleth stopping to admire the paintings as they walk. Dimitri is wholly unsurprised to discover that his fridge is empty save for a bottle of mustard and a package of molding Havarti cheese. “I’ll order something. How do you feel about croissants?”

“I’m not a picky eater. Anything sounds good.”

Dimitri orders his usual, insofar as an every-three-month order could be, a breakfast sandwich on fluffy croissant buns, stacked high with lettuce over the cheesy-omelet center, and candied pecans glistening against thick strips of bacon. He orders the same for Byleth because the other man insists he doesn’t need anything special, adding a cup of fruit and a liter of fresh-pressed orange juice for them to share.

It arrives promptly from the French café three blocks down in a matter of minutes, Dedue going through the effort of delivering it to Dimitri’s door personally. “You didn’t have to do that,” the blonde mumbles, something odd fluttering in his chest as his friend peeks through the door, catching a glimpse of Byleth sitting at the countertop.

“I know,” Dedue replies, unceremoniously placing the bag of warm food in his arms. “Have a good day, sir.”

He rolls his eyes as he closes the door, aware that he’s told the taller man to refrain from calling him sir dozens of times, if not hundreds. He pulls out plates and glasses for them from the cabinets, all of the silverware in his drawer clean as a whistle. Once everything is laid out, they dig in, Dimitri unable to stop the wheels in his brain from turning. “So,” he starts, cheeks full with food. “What was all that about? Last night.”

“What did you want it to be about?” Dimitri grows still and Byleth snickers. “Don’t be so nervous. It’s not a test. There’s no right or wrong answer.”

He forces himself to take another bite though he’s not hungry, wanting something to do with his hands. Once he swallows, he tries his best to convey his thoughts. “I thought it was a rather intimate thing to do, for a friend coming to check on me.”

Byleth offers him a teasing little smile. “We’re friends then, are we?”

Dimitri blows out his cheeks, heat washing through him. “I’d like to think so, yes.”

The shorter man hums, covering his mouth while he laughs. “I meant for it to be intimate. I like you, after all.”

Dimitri gapes at the admission. “You’re joking.”

Byleth puts a finger against his lips, and Dimitri hadn’t thought it possible to flush so hard, he’s shown that it’s indeed within his body’s means. “Don’t overthink it. I’ve always been sweet on you, ever since that first night.”

He stares down at his plate, biting his lip. “I thought you were just being nice. Welcoming me to the club.”

Byleth puts a hand below Dimitri’s chin, urging the blonde to look up. “I don’t join every new club member for drinks twelve weeks in a row. Only the very cute ones.”

He sputters, unable to tear away from Byleth’s sly gaze. “I wanted it to be. _Intimate_ ,” Dimitri explains, everything spilling out of him in a rush. “But, I’m awful. I have nightmares. I’m terrible with words. One day I’ll snap, and I don’t know if I could handle it, having you lose faith in me.”

Byleth shakes his head, tightening his grasp on Dimitri’s chin, causing the blonde’s breath to hitch. “I don’t care about any of those things, Dimitri,” he says, leaning in so very, very close, their lips almost touching. “Do you trust me?”

Dimitri swallows, mouth suddenly dry. “Yes,” he whispers, his lone eye fluttering shut.

Gently, so softly that Dimitri barely feels the pressure of the motion, Byleth leans forward to kiss the blonde. Seconds later, Dimitri wraps his arms around Byleth’s small waist, diving into the shorter man’s mouth like a man drowning, eager and desperate for the scraps of Byleth’s affection.

Byleth doesn’t let Dimitri’s quick pace deter his intentions in the least, smoothly transitioning from love bites and nips to the languid slide of their tongues together, fanning his fingers out against the long line of Dimitri’s neck. “Relax,” Byleth murmurs, less of a suggestion than a command. The tone sends sparks down Dimitri’s spine, and he nods, pulling back a little to let Byleth have more control.

With Byleth leading this dance, things go more smoothly, the dark-haired man able to draw little moans from Dimitri just by toying with his mouth, fingers unafraid to explore the blonde’s arms, sides, and legs. He stops when Dimitri feels drunk off of this, whatever it is, leaning back to study his flared nostrils and sweaty brow; his pretty, pretty parted red lips.

“Let’s talk later,” Byleth says at last, casting a forlorn glance at the clock on the microwave, cheeks ruddy from exertion. “For now, let’s eat.”

Dimitri doesn’t know how he manages to get the whole thing down, because he’s certain that he’s died somewhere between all the madness, believing his luck too good to be true.

* * *

Dimitri pouts when Sylvain drops a folder on his desk. “I’m so tired of all of this paper. Why hasn’t everything been digitized yet?”

The redhead blinks down at him, startled by the blonde’s nearly jovial tone. “Not sure, boss man. Guess I can ask the tech guys about it. We’d have to pay for additional labor from the bottom to really make it work, and you know Fleche would never let you hear the end of any _extraneous spending_.”

Fleche, his chief operations manager, would certainly have his head on a plate for hiring temporary employees to do something as baseline as digital information transferring. Still. He thinks it would be worth it in the end, to do away with all this _mess_. They’re too much alike, is the problem, opposites repelling each other at every given opportunity. “Better to ask forgiveness than permission,” Dimitri says, scribbling a note to himself to draft up a proposal later.

Sylvain hums, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Pardon me if I’m overstepping, but you seem to be feeling better,” he says, his tone high and inquisitive, fishing for details.

Dimitri is far too familiar with his schemes to take the bait. “Mm,” he replies, fingers dashing across the keyboard.

Knowing when to leave well enough alone, Sylvain heads back to his office with a smile. Inviting Byleth over had been the right decision, apparently. He makes peace with the fact that Dimitri wants to keep the memories of their time together to himself.

* * *

Dimitri agrees to meet Byleth at the club after hours on Saturday because the shorter man says: “I’m not sneaking past your security detail to head up to your penthouse again.”

Of course, with that said, Dimitri scrambles to make an appointment with Dedue to ensure that he trains his staff to allow this particular visitor to come and go as he pleases, going even further to pay for a duplicate keycard.

He endures the fond look the security offer gives him with warm cheeks, adamantly refusing to fold his arms over his chest like a huffy child.

It’s late, but he’s not tired. He’s gotten a couple more hours of sleep than usual, and the adrenaline rush of whatever relationship he might be about to engage in with Byleth has him vibrating out of his skin.

Lysithea nods to him as she holds open the door, her eyes shining with mischief. “Remember that if you make a mess, you two have to clean it up. Everybody else went home.”

Dimitri balks, sputtering. “That’s not—I just came here to _talk_.”

“Famous last words, blondie,” Lysithea says, twirling her keys around her index finger as she winks. “See ya later.”

At that, Dimitri ducks inside, noting how hollow the club looks with all of the lights turned up, the chairs at the bar stacked on top of the tables. Byleth is waiting for him at a booth near the back of the hall, sitting on the left side, the portion Dimitri internally refers to as the _frisky section_.

How telling.

Shaking his head to keep from jumping to conclusions, he takes a seat beside Byleth, offering the shorter man a wobbly smile. “Hello.”

“Hey,” Byleth replies, holding out his hand for Dimitri to take. “Glad you could make it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he says, the words coming out with more raw honesty than he’d intended. For a while, they sit there and enjoy each other’s quiet company. He notes that the music on overhead is even softer than usual, something in the realm of classical lullabies.

Several minutes later, once Dimitri’s limbs are loose, warm from the easy press of Byleth’s body against his, Byleth starts the conversation. “I don’t want to push you into anything you don’t want to do, so I’ll start with an easy question. Do you want to date me?”

Dimitri frowns, not quite sure what Byleth’s getting at. “Yes, of course. I’m the one who should be asking you that. I certainly don’t deserve you.”

“There’ll be none of that on my watch,” Byleth says, softly slapping Dimitri on the forehead. “I never do anything I don’t want to do. The sooner you get that through your silly head, the better.”

He nods.

“Now, for the more difficult topic.” Byleth pauses for a while, dark eyes staring up at Dimitri, an unreadable expression on his face. “You like to watch all of the couples here, but I’m not entirely sure you’re interested in the lifestyle.”

Dimitri laughs. The sound makes Byleth smile too, though he looks somewhat exasperated. He’d been prepared for the discussion to grow sour. “Well, I’m certainly not against it. I find the idea of such a dynamic exhilarating.” Suddenly, his brow furrows. “I suppose I might have guessed this to be an interest of yours, seeing that you own such a club. Which category do you belong to?”

Byleth chuckles, gray-blue eyes sparkling as he looks up at Dimitri, voice deep with innuendo as he speaks, teasingly echoing Dimitri’s turn of phrase. “Which do you _suppose_ I belong to?”

Flustered, he closes his eye, exhaling deeply. “I haven’t the slightest clue. You can be calm and comforting, yet unyielding. I feel as though you could go either way.”

“You’re not wrong,” Byleth says, running a finger down Dimitri’s arm. “People prefer for me to be a sub because I’m damn good at it, if I must say so myself, but I usually consider myself a switch.” Dimitri’s brow raises at that. Byleth licks his lips. “I’ve been leaning outside of my comfort zone, lately.”

“Oh.” Dimitri shivers at the implication once realization dawns on him. “ _Oh_.”

“Like I said, I won’t push you into anything,” Byleth breezily continues, but it’s too late. Dimitri’s head is clogged with a dozen lewd ideas, replaying the scene of the brunette licking his lips in his mind over and over again. “I just thought, maybe. It might be something we could try. If you want.”

Dimitri feels weak, pulse racing between his ears. “You really think I’d be good at it? Being your…being _yours_?” He can’t bring himself to call it what it is, overwhelmed by the very thought.

Byleth puts a hand under Dimitri’s chin, his grip a little tighter than it usually is, testing the waters. Faintly, Dimitri realizes he could get hard from this, at just the barest hint of Byleth being rough with him. “Anyone can figure out how to play at obedience,” Byleth assures him, voice as calm as the ocean waves. “Not everyone enjoys learning how to serve.”

Dimitri, in that moment, finds that he would so desperately like to learn.

* * *

It’s three o’clock in the morning and they’re discussing terms and conditions. Dimitri groans when Byleth puts it that way. “I have quite enough of those blasted things to deal with from my lawyers, thank you.”

“Okay, but you knew what I meant right away,” Byleth says, “so it works.”

The brunette jots down notes about hard and soft limits in his phone, nowhere near talking about sex and toys just yet. “We’ll get there when we get there,” Byleth explains when Dimitri asks, glancing out of the corner of his eyes to note the way Dimitri goes rosy. “You blush so easily. I like that.”

Dimitri runs a hand down his face, burning even hotter at his words. “You’re so shameless.”

“Yeah,” Byleth says, smirking softly. “I am.”

By the time they’ve covered the basics, it’s closer to four than three, Byleth letting out a long yawn before standing up. Dimitri offers to take him home, mostly because it’s a long walk to the bus station and the stops are less frequent at this time of night— _morning_ , rather. After he closes the passenger side door, he walks around the vehicle, leaning across the threshold where Dimitri’s rolled down the window for him.

He initiates their usual parting gesture, stretching out the ritual a bit this time. Byleth toys with the long strands of Dimitri’s hair, twirling it around his fingers, and when he’s finished, he tucks all of it neatly back into place, pulling his bangs back behind Dimitri’s ears. Now that they’ve discussed the rules, the can’s and cannot’s, he gingerly runs his thumb against the edge of the blonde’s eyepatch, but he doesn’t remove the cloth.

Instead, he leans down, kissing Dimitri full on the mouth before he heads to his townhouse. “Good night, Dimitri.”

Dazed, Dimitri wiggles his fingers back in a wave. “Good night.”

* * *

When Sylvain tells Ingrid about Dimitri’s improved mood thanks to Byleth’s impromptu visit, she looks up at him with the most unimpressed look he’s ever seen, wet blonde hair dripping on the floor of their bedroom. “No shit, Sylvain,” she says, and he fakes a theatrical fainting motion, pretending to be horrified by the bad influence Felix has on her mannerisms. “He really likes this guy.”

He whines, padding behind her loyally, appreciating the view as she takes her towel off of her torso to dry off her head. “Okay, yes, that much is obvious. It’s just, you saw how poorly he reacted at lunch the other day. How’s he gonna handle being in a relationship with the dude if he shuts down at the idea of having a crush?”

Ingrid sighs, slinging the towel over her shoulders while she plops down on the mattress. Sylvain passes her the fancy lotion that she and Felix adore without being asked, to which she gives a perfunctory thank you for. “Trying to guess how Dimitri’s gonna react to things is something I wouldn’t risk right now, all things considered. I _hope_ he tries his best to communicate. I just want him to be happy.”

Sylvain furrows his brow, kneeling behind Ingrid to start massaging her shoulders. “Me too. It feels like he’s been miserable for so long.”

She hums, closing her eyes at his touch, relief oozing out of her pores as he works out a few kinks. When he pulls away, she pouts at him, forcing the redhead to hold up his hands in surrender.

“C’mon, ‘Grid, you know I’m supposed to go to the gym with Fe in a few minutes.”

Ingrid puffs out her cheeks. “Yes. You’re still on for coming to the ranch tomorrow though, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” He leans down to kiss her and she vindictively turns it into a long French, pleased by the way it makes him groan. “ _Ingrid_.”

“Have fun,” she says, leaning over to moon him while she pretends to rifle through her drawers for a clean set of underwear. “Tell Felix to take it easy on you.”

“Every day, I am tortured in this house,” Sylvain grumbles, scurrying out of the room before he can say or do anything he’ll regret.

* * *

It’s not wholly unsurprising for Edelgard, Dimitri’s stepsister, to turn up at headquarters. After all, Adrestian Enterprises entered a bid for a merger with Faerghus six months ago, the two CEOs agreeing that it would be beneficial to form a conglomerate rather than continuing to craft nasty, fruitless competitions against each other.

Of course, it helps matters at the negotiation table that they _are_ related, if only on paper.

Still, she’s familiar with her brother’s bad habits. She’d gotten out of her last meeting at five-thirty, and though she hasn’t made an appointment or anything, she’s stunned to realize that he’s not in.

Frowning, Edelgard makes her way down the hall to the door with the name _Felix H. Fraldarius_ on the plate, knocking on it. He opens it, surprised. “Hey. Did we miss a meeting?” He sounds anxious about the prospect. The last thing they need is for a scandal to brew because of something as moronic as forgetting to put a meeting with the CEO of AE on the calendar.

Edelgard shakes her head, her long ponytail swishing back and forth with the motion. “I was just stopping by. Did Dimitri have something else on the docket?”

“Er, no.” Felix feels flayed alive by her piercing gaze. “I mean. Sort of.” She puts a hand on her hip, looking underwhelmed by his stall tactics. He groans, finally giving in, telling her the truth in a small voice. “I think he went on a date.”

She blinks at him. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

He glares down at her. It’s amazing how someone so short can be so intimidating. “Don’t be obtuse. You heard what I said.”

A small smirk flits across her face for a fraction of a second before she schools her expression. “Awfully bold of you to assume when you barely spoke above a whisper, Fraldarius.” She calls all of them by last name when she really wants to dig in her heels.

“A date, you prick, I think he left to get ready for a fucking _date_ ,” Felix mutters, wishing he could choke the woman in front of him without consequences.

“Well done,” Edelgard says, clapping at his efforts. “Lovely work.”

“I hate you, you know.”

She waves off his hollow words. “I’m aware.” After a moment, she smiles, a fairly genuine expression on her face, for Edelgard. “Good for him. I wasn’t aware he was seeing anyone.”

Felix snorts, folding his arms across his chest. “He’s not obligated to talk to you about his private life.”

Edelgard levels him with a cool gaze in response, mirth dancing in her eyes. “He obviously hasn’t told you much about it either, since you _think_ he’s gone to prepare for a date rather than _knowing_ he’s doing so.”

She’s right. Felix can’t refute that. “I see him all the time. I, at least, have a better idea of what he’s up to without needing to ambush him for after-hours plans.”

Why it always whittles down to a competition between them, she’ll never know, but she’s never been one to back away from a challenge. “I don’t have to spend all of my days with my brother to read him like a book. Dimitri’s always worn his heart on his sleeve, even when it allows other people to stab knives into it, the exposure bleeding him dry.”

He’s taken aback by the surprisingly insightful comment, but he can’t also help chortling at her phrasing. “I think somebody’s been reading a little bit too much Jane Austen.”

“Never underestimate the power of the classics,” Edelgard retorts, and with that, she straightens out her spine, heels clicking down the hallway as she leaves.

Sylvain peeks his head out from around the corner once she’s gone. “Is it over?” Felix rolls his eyes at the redhead. “What? She scares me. I’m not afraid to admit it.”

Felix jabs a finger into Sylvain’s sternum. “So?”

His brow furrows. “What?”

“Is he? Going on a date. I know you were listening.”

Sylvain shrugs. “How should I know? He tells me stuff even less often than he tells you. Given that it’s six-fifteen on a Friday and he normally has to be dragged out of here by force, I’d place my bets on yes.”

Felix blows his bangs out of his eyes. Though he’d never admit such a thing, Sylvain knows that he’s pouting over being left out of the loop.

The redhead slings his arm around his boyfriend’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll tell us when he’s ready,” he assures Felix, pressing a quick kiss against his cheek. “Don’t worry so much.”

“I’m not worried,” Felix mumbles, but he also doesn’t shove Sylvain off of him, so it’s difficult for the redhead to believe his white lie.

* * *

Byleth bows his head in greeting as he heads up to the top floor of Dimitri’s building, the blonde answering the door in a tizzy. “Hello.”

The penthouse is tidy this time. He’d hired a service to put his extraneous paperwork into boxes, having them transferred to the office for the digitization plan he intends to launch in three months, glancing over the documents to make sure nothing personal is accidentally strewn in with the mess. Clarissa, the head of his cleaning staff, had been thoroughly surprised when they’d crossed paths on Wednesday, idly remarking that she hadn’t been aware that he knew how to wash dishes.

“Well,” Dimitri had admitted when they spoke, “I broke quite a few. I have to learn to be more careful.”

She’d giggled at that, shooing him away, and he’d floated through the rest of his week in daze, equal parts anxious and eager for Friday to arrive.

Now, it’s Friday, and though Byleth had requested that he remain in his work clothes or something casual until the shorter man arrived, he feels horribly underdressed and unprepared for whatever the evening has in store. “Hey,” Byleth says, leaning up to peck Dimitri on the lips and tuck his hair behind his ears before moving to put two bags on the couch.

He looks, for lack of a better descriptor, stunning.

Tonight, he has on a loose white blouse, the angle of the lapels shaped in a deep-v that dips nearly down to Byleth’s navel, half of the long shirt tucked into his shorts. His shorts are a pale sky blue, with bold buttons on them, and the pockets look more like accent flaps. Around his neck is a muted gold necklace, matching with a thick bangle on each wrist, and complementing the black-and-white oxfords on his feet.

Byleth takes stock of Dimitri with a look of approval. The blonde flushes under the attention, trying his best not to fidget or look away. “Take a shower and blow-dry your hair. I brought you a few things to try on, and I guessed at your size.”

Recognizing the order for what it is, Dimitri heads for the bathroom, whisking through the motions quickly. His heart is pounding so fast that he feels like he could pass out, but he wills himself to calm down, refusing to do anything that could ruin this date.

Blow-drying his hair for a few minutes, and the heat of the thing is miserable against his neck, even in the comfort of his air-conditioned bathroom. Once he’s finished, he emerges to find Byleth reading a book, the same one he’d borrowed two weeks ago. The brunette marks his page when Dimitri opens the door, steam billowing out behind him. With a towel fasted around his waist, it’s easier for him to browse the selection of clothing Byleth brought with him.

With the exception of the undergarments, all of it looks a bit _snug_ —not small. Intentionally designed to be form-fitting. He shivers, blaming it on the chill of his spacious living room. “Do you have any preferences?”

Byleth shakes his head. “You’ll be dressed in things that I picked for you. That’s all that matters to me.”

Dimitri turns back to the couch because it’s impossible for him to keep looking at the sly expression on Byleth’s face without growing stiff beneath his towel.

He settles on a black g-string thong that has comfortable coverage in the front, muttering to himself about how ridiculous the thing must look on him as he squeezes his thighs through the holes. It leaves his pale cheeks exposed— _don’t think about that_ —and it’s breezy when he takes a seat to put on his socks. Byleth watches the whole ordeal with hungry, deep blue eyes, pupils dark.

Dimitri twitches in the thong, resolved to clipping the sock garters on more quickly, as if doing so will create a protective layer from the searing heat of Byleth’s gaze.

All of the blouses have sheer elements to them, but the shirt that catches his eye is black with sleeves made of lace, the torso-section cotton. He tugs it on, and it highlights the width of his shoulders, the slenderness of his waist. Next, he wiggles into a set of high-waisted white trousers, the ends of the set tapered to rest just above his ankles. Once everything is set, Byleth encourages Dimitri to wear a pair of black loafers. “Whatever you have,” he explains, telling the blonde that any pair he wears for work will be satisfactory.

Once his laces are tied, Byleth runs a hand down Dimitri’s back, smiling at the way he shudders. “You’re sensitive,” the shorter man hums. “Nice to know.”

Idly, Dimitri wonders if it’s too late to cancel their dinner plans. He doesn’t want to make a fool of himself by coming in his new clothes just because Byleth has complimented him.

“C’mon,” Byleth says, guiding Dimitri out of the door once he puts his phone and wallet in his pockets, his hand on the small of the blonde’s back. “We don’t want to be late.”

* * *

They have a private booth at the restaurant. Immediately, Dimitri jumps to conclusions, but Byleth quickly assuages him. “I’m not going to ask you to do anything extravagant in public. Not yet.”

He flushes at the promise of things to come in the future.

For the most part, save for the fact that Byleth had requested Dimitri join him on the same side of the table, it’s a typical date. They talk about interests and what they’ve been up to at work all week, with Byleth rolling his eyes about Lorenz, another server at the club. “He’s a brat,” Byleth grouses, and Dimitri chuckles before sipping his wine.

It isn’t until dessert that Byleth shows his cards, looping a strong calf around Dimitri’s. Dimitri feels shock and warmth lick up his spine, every inch of his lower half attuned to Byleth’s movements. “How are you enjoying things so far? Being dressed up for me.”

Dimitri licks his lips, mouth dry. “It’s nice.” At the reminder, goosebumps rise on his arms. “You did a good job guessing my size.”

“I have a good eye,” Byleth says, gaze roving to the nearly-empty bottle of a Cabernet Sauvignon. “Would you refill my glass for me?”

The blonde swallows, cheeks red. “It would be my pleasure,” Dimitri says, and Byleth chuckles, reaching down and pinching his thigh.

“A simple _yes_ would suffice,” Byleth corrects, his voice as calm and cool as ever. Dimitri dutifully empties the bottle, feeling like he could melt when Byleth cards his fingers through his blonde hair, lips glancing against the shell of his ear. “Good boy,” he whispers. Dimitri swears he could melt at the sound of Byleth’s voice, the sweetest death he could ever imagine.

They put on the façade of a typical couple enjoying the evening when their server returns, though Byleth doesn’t take his arm out of the crook of Dimitri’s elbow when the man puts down the plate of tiramisu. Apparently, by this point, he’s given up on hiding what they’ve come here to do, though it hadn’t been much of a secret in the first place.

Byleth uses a spoon to grab a large corner of the dessert. “Say ah,” he murmurs, long fingers toying with the lace of Dimitri’s left sleeve.

He feels silly, opening his mouth so readily, but he hums at the taste and he says thank you. After he’s finished chewing, slowly savoring his food, he nearly squeaks at the sight of Byleth uncouthly digging his fingers into the treat.

“One of the perks of a private booth,” Byleth explains. “Nobody nearby to stare at us. Would you like some more?”

Dimitri squirms in place, doing his best to keep the blood from pooling in his groin. “Yes,” he replies, his blue eye wide with wonder as Byleth’s fingers enter his mouth.

Byleth waits patiently for Dimitri to lick them clean, red up to his ears and growing harder by the minute. He moans outright at the third mouthful, embarrassed by how viscerally this act is affecting him.

Byleth explores Dimitri’s mouth after the fourth pass, two of his digits gliding over the smooth ridges of his teeth. He studies the underside of Dimitri’s tongue, and lets a knuckle gently rub against the roof of the blonde’s mouth, drinking in the sounds of his muffled pleasure. When he pulls them out, they’re sticky and shiny with spit, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “Are you full?” Dimitri makes to shake his head, wanting to please Byleth, but, as always, the shorter man sees through him. “You don’t have to lie. I don’t want blind obedience from you. I want to know that I can trust you to tell me when you’ve had enough.” They’re not talking about the contents of his stomach, he knows. “Can I trust you, Dimitri?”

He’s hard now, undeniably, straining against the fabric of the high-waisted white trousers Byleth picked out for him. “Yes,” Dimitri murmurs, holding his partner’s gaze. “I’ll try my best to be honest.”

At that, Byleth smiles, warm and fond. “Okay.” He only takes a nibble of the tiramisu himself before deciding that the wine is worthier of his final refreshment off the table. When they’re finished, Byleth moves to grab his card. Dimitri has half a mind to pull out his own to stop him, but Byleth fixes him with a look that says there’s no room for an argument. “Next time,” the brunette assures him, signing his name on the check after leaving a hefty tip.

They part ways at the metro station, Byleth ruffling Dimitri’s hair so that it’s _on_ his face instead of tucking it behind his ears, for once. “I’ll be busy for the next couple weeks, but I’d like to see you at the club again, if you have the time.”

Dimitri nods. “Perhaps next Saturday? I’m afraid I have plans tomorrow.”

“Until then,” Byleth says, gracing him with a long and languid kiss on the platform, waving him goodbye as the doors of the train slip open. “Wear another one of your new outfits for me, won’t you?”

Dimitri speed walks back to his penthouse, taking himself in hand the second he gets in the door. In his mind’s eye, Byleth is basked in an ethereal light beside him, dragging the hand dirty with his spit down the length of his torso instead, palm settling on the barely-hidden bulge below. _I don’t think I gave you permission to bring this out_ , the fantasy version of Byleth comments, squeezing him through the thong’s thin fabric, thumb pressed against his swollen red tip.

He finishes, making a mess all over the floor while bonelessly catching his breath. It’s the hardest he’s come in ages.

And to think, he hadn’t been thoroughly convinced of his submissive tendencies just last month.

* * *

It’s a Friday night, and at this point, it’s more of a surprise to see Dimitri lurking about the office than it is to see him still here, wringing his hands in the doorway of Felix’s office. “Hey,” he greets, hoping his expression doesn’t come off chastising. The last thing he wants to do is scare Dimitri off when getting him to talk is like pulling teeth.

“Hello,” the blonde replies, his mind obviously far away. Felix waits him out for a minute before he rolls his eyes and looks back at his emails. He figures he ought to be productive if it’s going to take a while for Dimitri to spit out whatever it is he wants to say. “I was wondering, if. You knew of a good gym in town.” Felix doesn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t that, and it must show on his face. “You’ve always been active, and I researched a few places on my own, but I trust your judgement more than strangers on Google.”

The odd compliment makes Felix smile. “Thanks, I guess. What are you looking to do?”

“I want to, um.” Dimitri fidgets again, a rosy flush on his cheeks, “I want to get in shape, for my boyfriend.”

 _He’ll tell us when he’s ready_ , Sylvain had said, and he’d been right. Felix is absolutely never going to hear the end of it. “Are you interested in taking classes, or getting a personal trainer?”

“A trainer first, I should think. I don’t know the first thing about maintaining a healthy fitness routine.”

Felix grunts in agreement, letting out a slow hum. “Well, you could always come to my gym as a guest. I have a two-person pass, but I usually have to drag Sylvain’s sorry ass along upon threat of punishment.” Dimitri chuckles at his dark humor. “If you don’t like it, I have a few other places I’ve been and liked. Lots of variety among the staff, interesting programs to keep you busy.”

“That sounds great. What time do you usually go?”

“Monday through Thursday at five-thirty. We can go after work instead, if you prefer.”

Dimitri holds up a hand with a soft smile. “No, no, that sounds good. If you text me the address, I’ll meet you there next week. Thanks, Felix.”

Felix watches him walk away with a wry expression, shaking his head in awe. _Reality is stranger than fiction._

* * *

“You owe me twenty bucks,” is the first thing Sylvain says at dinner, and Felix kicks him in the shins. “Ow.”

Ingrid beams at the news. “Oh my god, that’s great. How long have they been seeing each other?”

Felix shakes his head. “Didn’t ask.” She nods at that, remembering how well prying had gone for her. “I’m really trying not to put the cart in front of the horse, because _shit_. I haven’t seen Dimitri be proactive about doing anything aside from studying and work since he played lacrosse in college. I don’t wanna get my hopes up and get pissed when I get a call from him in the hospital next month.”

Given the pacing of Dimitri’s usual cycle, it’s time for a meltdown and they all know it. This time of year is busier than ever, manufacturers churning out products by the truckload in preparation for the holidays. Thanksgiving is around the corner, or it feels that way, anyways, what with all the constant, persistent advertising at the grocery store. After that, Christmas is only a skip away, with New Year’s Eve nipping at its heels.

Though the workdays have been long, and Dimitri is no less an authoritative and effective boss, some of the life is returning to his single eye, his smiles coming more easily.

“No point in mulling over what-ifs,” Sylvain says, shoving a piece of broccoli into his mouth. “Let’s just be grateful for his happiness today.”

Ingrid and Felix agree, so they put the topic to rest.

On Monday morning, Felix sees Dimitri leaning against the building, his breath coming out in cool puffs. “You could’ve gone inside, you know,” he mumbles, tugging his scarf up to cover his nose in the brisk October morning.

“I wanted to be sure I had the right place,” Dimitri replies, an answer so typical of him that it makes Felix roll his eyes.

He says hello to Ignatz, the blonde-haired attendant at the desk, then leads the way to the changing room. He doesn’t usually make conversation at the lockers, knowing that some people aren’t in the mood before the sun’s come up, and furthermore, it’s common courtesy; there’s no use in having people give him odd looks while their junk’s exposed. Still, he’s curious. All he can do is hope that Dimitri is in the mood to talk. “You’ve got a boyfriend now?”

The blonde grows still for a moment, fingers freezing on his shoelaces. After a moment, he inhales deeply, making certain that his sneakers are tied securely. “Yes. His name is Byleth.”

Felix hums. “Okay.” When he and Sylvain had told Dimitri about the truth of their messy on-and-off again relationship, and how they’d been omitting Ingrid’s involvement for the sake of keeping things simple, he had accepted the news rather gracefully, all things considered. It had been difficult for him to come to terms with his bisexual potential in college after so many years of being a sheltered, repressed, traditionally-raised rich boy. A polyamorous relationship had been beyond his scope of understanding in his mid-twenties.

Now, in their early thirties, they are different men. “We met at the club,” Dimitri explains, though Felix hadn’t asked. It’s a good sign.

Seeing how nervous Dimitri is about coming out to one of his best friends, Felix can’t help but crack a sardonic joke. “Did you fall in love after he bruised your ass and made you call him sir?”

Dimitri sputters, flushing red up to his ears. “I— _no_.” He huffs, trailing behind Felix as they make their way to one of the studios for the kickboxing session he usually attends. Under his breath, so lowly that Felix almost doesn’t catch it, he mumbles, “Not that I would tell you even if he had.”

Felix guffaws at that, making a scene at five o’clock in the fucking morning. Dimitri pouts, folding his arms over his chest like a petulant child, and Felix wipes mirthful tears from his maroon eyes. “Good for you.”

The room fills with familiar faces, Felix greeting Raphael and Caspar with a cocky grin, bragging that he’s going to outdo them once again this morning. They get riled up, knocking elbows with each other, both of them pausing to say hello to Dimitri, who’s moving through a series of idle stretches.

It’s a hard workout. Petra, the leader of the class, has an accent, but stronger thighs than just about everyone else in the room. She walks around in intervals, making sure to correct bad posture when she sees it. Furthermore, she encourages Dimitri to drink as much water and take as many breaks as he needs to, noting that he’s doing very well for his first day at the gym.

Afterwards, Dimitri towels his face dry, sweat clinging to the back of his shirt. He’s so busy panting for breath on the floor that he doesn’t notice Petra walking over to him, his eye unfocused as he tilts up his head. “Felix say you are interested in private coaching, yes?”

“I am,” he pants, pushing the towel back so it’s draped across his shoulders.

“A nutrition plan also?”

He blinks for a while, unsure how to answer. He has a complicated relationship with food, but really, if he’s going to dedicate himself to improving his health, he ought to do it completely. “Yes,” he says at last, fully aware that he’s taken more time than the average person to answer.

Petra nods, her red-violet hair barely moving in the tight bun at the top of her head at the motion. “I have time in mornings, at seven, or eight, weekends. If time is not best, I can do weekday nights at six-thirty.”

“Mornings at seven are great for me,” Dimitri says. He’ll be cutting it close, since he has to be at the office at nine, but, in all fairness, he’s _everyone’s_ boss. So long as he gets his work done, no one will complain. Truthfully, most of his staff will be grateful if he comes in a little late because he has the tendency to ride their asses and micromanage them when it’s crunch time.

He follows Petra to the front desk where Ignatz is waiting for them with a smile, checking Dimitri out promptly. He pushes up his glasses as he pulls out a brochure, walking Dimitri through all of the services available to him with his gym membership. The tall blonde just nods, not really absorbing much of what the shorter man is saying, and sensing his distraction, Ignatz says, “Don’t worry. All this stuff’s online on the website, if you wanna look it up later. For now, let me just say we’re happy to have you with us. Have a good day.”

“Thanks,” Dimitri says, offering him a small smile. “You too.”

* * *

Two and a half months have passed since Byleth and Dimitri entered a relationship, and though Dimitri has never been the sort to rush into the bedroom, he finds himself anxious that matters between have not yet turned to sex.

There _is_ a certain appeal to this situation of hovering in limbo. Byleth holds all the cards, meaning that it’s up to him to determine when anything happens. Furthermore, Dimitri has become so effusively sensitive that he gets worked up from the briefest of touches, hurrying into his bathroom to rub one out as soon as their time together ends.

That’s why it’s a shock, of a sort, for Byleth to flatly ask him, “How do you feel about being on the receiving end during sex?”

Dimitri coughs, the bourbon from his old-fashioned burning as it awkwardly slides down his throat. Two seats away from them, Dorothea, another dom from the club, snorts with laughter at his reaction. “I don’t know. I’ve never been asked before.”

Byleth knows his sexual history, by this point, because he’d asked about it. He’d been gauging Dimitri’s interest in stuff outside of vanilla missionary straight sex, and Dimitri’s never been far off the beaten path.

Well. Until now, that is.

Byleth hums, typing out notes on his phone. “Would you be interested in bottoming?”

Dimitri contemplates for a minute, trying to figure out the logistics. Even if it’s only slightly intrusive, it could mean a finger going up his anus, and though he’s not _disgusted_ , per se, he thinks it doesn’t sound hygienic. “Sure, but I don’t know what to do. Is there a proper procedure, beforehand? Are there products I should buy?”

“Don’t worry about that stuff,” Byleth replies, voice cool and soothing as ever. “I’ve got everything we need. I just wanted to see if you’d be willing to give it a go.”

Dimitri puts one elbow down on the bar, taking a slow sip of his drink. “With you, I’d be happy to do most things.” The admittance, though true, makes him flush, and Byleth doesn’t look unmoved by his words either.

“Okay,” Byleth says, pressing a beery kiss to Dimitri’s pale cheek below his eyepatch. “I’ll come to your place on Friday, to get you ready. Can I stay the night?” Dimitri nods, perhaps a bit too eagerly. “Oh, don’t act like you’ve forgotten. Use your words.”

“Yes,” Dimitri mumbles, blue eye falling closed as his chest heaves with arousal. “I’d be delighted to have you over.”

“Good boy,” Byleth whispers before flicking his tongue into Dimitri’s mouth.

He heads for the parking lot in a daze, nearly hitting Dorothea in the face when she pokes him in the back. “Sorry,” she says, smiling a bit nervously. “Byleth told me you weren’t good with people touching you. I forgot.”

“No, I’m the one who should be apologizing,” Dimitri replies, ashamed that his automatic response to his personal space being invaded is always catered to violence. “Did you need something from me?”

“Nothing in particular,” the wavy-haired woman says, lacquered lips easing into a warm grin. “Just wanted to get a closer look at you. I heard you and Byleth saw my show last week, but I had to go as soon as it was over. I missed my chance to talk.”

Dimitri rubs the back of his neck with a somewhat shy expression. “Yes. Your partner seemed very…unruly.”

Dorothea rolls her green eyes. “He wasn’t _my_ sub. Someone asked me to help break him in, so I did, but I dunno. His heart’s not in it. Has too much of an ego.”

At that, Dimitri chuckles. “Yes, that’s also how it appeared to me, from the outside looking in.”

“Not like you,” Dorothea teases, hands on her hips. “You’ve got the spirit of the thing, if not the expertise. I’d like to see you and Byleth in one of the viewing rooms one day.”

Dimitri flushes hot red, pressing his hand to his face to cover his mouth. He’s scared of what he might say or do, and her remark has a dozen scenarios flitting through his head, of Byleth dragging his neck back on a leash. “It’s still too soon,” he mumbles at last, burning up, growing tight in his jeans.

Dorothea winks at him. “I didn’t say it had to be _tomorrow_ , just that I think you two would put on a good show. Tell me how it goes, losing your backside virginity.”

He squawks at her as she walks back inside with a wave, huddling over so nobody in the parking lot can see the bulge from the half-chub he’s sporting.

* * *

Because he doesn’t have anything else to associate with his backside, the lubricated douche pushing cleansing fluid up his hole feels a bit like having a watery stool go back into his bowels. It’s odd, a little uncomfortable, but Byleth talks him through the whole process with a steady hand, smiling at him as he stands up on wobbly legs.

They have dinner in, ordering from Dimitri’s favorite Indian restaurant, and Byleth, as he’s taken to doing on several of their recently-shared meals, scoops up biryani and chicken masala for Dimitri to lick off of his fingers.

When they’re finished, Dimitri is warm and full, offering Byleth the full run of his kitchen. “There’s some water in the fridge, I think. If not, I probably put the bottles in the pantry.”

Byleth marvels at the newly-purchased contents, turning to him with a smile, impressed. “All of this stuff looks pretty healthy, Dimitri.”

“Dima,” he blurts out suddenly, riding high off of the elation of being sated and doing something worthy of Byleth’s commendation. “It’s my. My mother used to call me that, when I was little. It’s a pet name. She called me Mitya, too, but not as often. Usually when I got in trouble.”

“Dima,” Byleth says, Dimitri’s nickname rolling off of his tongue like honey.

Dimitri stares at Byleth for a while, remembering what they’d been talking about with a start. “Right, yes. I’ve started going to the gym, and my trainer drafted up a nutrition plan for me.” He wrings his hands a bit, fraught with nerves. “I thought, if I was really going to be serious about this, that I should build up my stamina.”

Byleth glides over to the couch, dropping down on Dimitri’s lap without ceremony. “I’m glad that you’re excited. I know what you said, back when we had our first discussion, but I was still a little worried that I might’ve been pushing my fetish onto you.”

“No,” Dimitri replies sternly, brow furrowed as Byleth presses their noses together. “I told you, when we started this. That I wanted to be yours.”

“That you did,” Byleth whispers, tangling his fingers in Dimitri’s hair as they frot and kiss.

Dimitri doesn’t sleep well that night, but then, he rarely does. His ghosts are relatively quiet when he wakes, whispering to him about his shortcomings and failings, as ever. They grow quieter still as he brushes Byleth’s choppy bangs out his face, the shorter man moving into his touch in his sleep.

Today, the cause for his restlessness is in his bedroom in two forms, the first being Byleth himself, and the second being the bag of unmentionables that Byleth had warned him not to touch. _Not that you can’t see all my goodies_ , Byleth had said, _but I don’t want you to spoil the surprise._

He’s jittery, trying not to bite his nails. He so desperately wants to be good, for Byleth.

Eventually, he turns on classical music, folding himself up uncomfortably on the settee as the noise lulls him to sleep. He wakes again when Byleth pads into the kitchen, whisking something that looks to be egg whites and spinach in a bowl. “Good morning,” the brunette greets, his bob pulled into a little rat tail at the back of his head.

Dimitri giggles at the sight. “Good morning.”

Byleth rolls his eyes, pointing the spatula at the blonde. “Don’t laugh. Some of us feel like screaming when their hair gets too long and my hairdresser is on an extended vacation. I’m _miserable_.”

“My friends cut my hair for me sometimes,” Dimitri offers, “since I get jumpy when strangers touch me.”

The brunette hums. “I’ll keep that in mind if I get too frustrated with my mop.”

They dine in the quiet, sipping on coffee as the sounds of concertos keep floating from the living room speakers.

When they’ve finished, Byleth slides a hand through Dimitri’s hair. “I know it’s early, but I’d like to get started. We can watch a movie together after we’re done, to help you unwind.”

Dimitri nods, pulse racing as he follows Byleth back to the bedroom.

Before doing anything else, Byleth makes sure that Dimitri doesn’t need to relieve himself, so the blonde goes to pee, just in case. When he comes back, Byleth is waiting on the mattress in a pair of lacy blue undergarments and a tank top—comfortable clothes, not far from what he’d been sleeping in the night before. “Go ahead and get undressed,” Byleth says, dark eyes tracking Dimitri like a hawk as the blonde peels off his t-shirt. The boxers follow, and he sits, willing himself to stand still as Byleth looks him up and down. Before the silent appraisal can stretch on for long and force Dimitri to listen to the whirlwind of negative thoughts swimming around his head, Byleth flicks his eyes to the left. “On your knees,” he commands, and Dimitri wades over to the mattress like a man possessed.

He concentrates on keeping his breathing even like Petra told him to at the gym last week. _Bad breathing make you tired faster_ , she’d said in her little accent.

Byleth traces a long finger down his spine and Dimitri shivers. “It will be awkward, at first, like the cleanse was last night. It’s not meant to hurt, so if it does, tell me and I’ll stop.”

Dimitri almost nods, but then he remembers the rules. “Yes, I will.”

“You can call me sir, if you like. I won’t force you.”

The blonde gulps, feeling the blood rush south at the suggestion. “I’d like to, sir.”

It’s difficult to see Byleth through the curtain of his hair and with his lack of depth perception, but he gets the impression that the title makes the brunette smile. Dimitri preens under his silent praise.

He hears the water-based lubricant being uncapped behind him, inhaling shakily at the first hint of fingers spreading his cheeks. When one of them slips inside, he trembles a little, biting his bottom lip. It’s not as bad as he’d expected it to be, all things considered, and that makes it easier to prepare when Byleth announces that he’ll be inserting a second.

 _This_ feels much different than the isotonic enema from the day before, something of a cross between extreme discomfort and a dangerously high thrill of arousal, because everything about sex is explicit.

As Byleth steadily scissors Dimitri open, he starts to speak again. “Tell me, how does it feel?”

“Odd, like you said,” Dimitri groans as his partner massages his hole, “but I’m getting adjusted.”

“I’ll put in a third finger, then,” Byleth says, squirting a fresh coat of cold gel on his digits. Dimitri shivers when some of it slides down his thighs. “I’m going deeper this time because I’m going to rub your prostate.”

“Yes, sir,” Dimitri acknowledges, his cock growing stiffer as he speaks.

Byleth adjusts the angle of his index, middle, and ring finger as he alternates between spreading Dimitri wider and driving into him. When he hits the blonde’s sweet spot, Dimitri groans, a raw guttural sound that takes him by surprise.

The brunette bends down to grin at Dimitri. “That good?”

“Oh, _yes_ ,” Dimitri mumbles, his member curving up towards his abdomen now.

Byleth spends another minute or two stroking that private part of him before pressing a kiss to Dimitri’s shoulder. “Don’t move. I’m just getting something out of my bag.”

Dimitri obeys, sweat beginning to bead all over his face. By the time Byleth returns, his arms are tired, but he knows there’s still more to come.

Byleth leans down to check on him, brushing Dimitri’s hair out of his eye. “Still good?”

“Yes,” Dimitri says, offering his partner a labored smile. “I’m out of shape, is all.”

“You’re doing very well,” Byleth lauds him, squeezing his arm in support.

Idly, Dimitri wonders if he could come untouched at the sound of Byleth’s kind words alone.

“This is going to feel a lot different from my fingers, so try to relax.” Dimitri agrees, lessening the tension in his curled toes and hunched shoulders. A few seconds later, a vaguely penile object slides in deep, the anchor feeling like it’s drooping outside of his ass for miles rather than inches. When Byleth turns it on, buzzing rollicks up Dimitri’s spine, nearly causing him to fall on the pillow below his face.

Dimitri squirms, unable to help it, balls drawing up tight at the stimulation.

“Do you trust me?” Byleth asks, pulling Dimitri away from the distraction coursing through him like thunderbolts.

“ _Yes_ ,” he wheezes, his blue eye glossy as he pants for air. “I do.”

“Count to ten, then,” Byleth says, the soft tendrils of what must be a whip tickling Dimitri’s skin where the brunette runs the tail down Dimitri’s leg.

On the first stroke, Dimitri can tell Byleth is holding back, testing the waters. It still stings, but it’s no more discomfiting than the vibrator. On the second pass, the full swathe of leather cracks against his thighs, the heat of the motion making Dimitri whine, precum dribbling down his tip.

“Louder,” Byleth orders, reeling back for his third strike.

“ _Yes sir_ ,” Dimitri shouts, tears stinging in his eye.

Number four is tame, compared to the previous two hits, but five is far more brutal to make up for the slack. The sixth and seventh strokes slide by in a crest of emotions—the pain and the pleasure mingling effortlessly, coupled with Dimitri’s endless, ruthless misery of being unable to stroke his cock until he comes.

“Ten,” Dimitri gasps, his eye wide as his legs give out. Byleth turns the vibrator off and pulls it out, then he checks the blonde for any bleeding or lasting damage. “Please,” Dimitri begs, clinging to Byleth’s wrist with a pitiful moan. “Touch me, please. I won’t take very long.”

It would be a wonder if he lasts more than ten seconds, at this rate, the tip of his head flushed so red that it looks swollen. “Please, what?” Byleth inquires, kneeling over him to grab the lube.

Flushed and wrung out, Dimitri says, “ _Please_ , sir,” and Byleth obliges, wrapping his fingers around Dimitri’s cock. He babbles absolute nonsense as the brunette squeezes him tightly, his sexual experience obvious in the way he gets to the core of the matter, efficiently driving Dimitri to a conclusion in his fist.

Byleth kneels over him when Dimitri vainly tries to thrust, his legs sore from balancing his weight for so long. He flashes a smirk up at Dimitri as he looks up, licking a stripe up Dimitri’s balls. “You’ve been a very good boy, Dima. Go ahead.” Byleth mumbles against the sensitive skin, and that’s all it takes for Dimitri to blow his load harder than he has since he was a teenager.

Spooled on the mattress, Dimitri floats in a thoughtless paradise, vibrantly replaying every moment of the scene that just took place. Distantly, he hears Byleth whispering to him, dutifully shifting his legs when the other man tells him to. Something wet and warm touches his skin, a washcloth, maybe, and he does feel cleaner once Byleth’s finished. “How was it?”

Dimitri nuzzles against Byleth, who elects to be the big spoon after he turns on the television. “Overwhelming,” he admits honestly. “It was intense, but I have to admit that I enjoyed it more than I thought I would.”

Byleth hums, petting Dimitri’s hair. “Was it too much?”

Dimitri shakes his head, burrowing further into Byleth’s arms as his eyelid begins to droop. “I didn’t know what to expect, is all.” With flushed cheeks, he mumbles his next words. “I wouldn’t mind a bit more of a challenge, next time.”

Byleth throws a leg over Dimitri’s thigh, the back of which is still glaringly flushed from being whipped. “I’m sure I can come up with something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> onward to the final installment, chapter 3!! ♡♡♡
> 
> ♠[twitter](https://twitter.com/quillifer)♠  
> ♠[tumblr](https://quillifer.tumblr.com/)♠


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the full list of fic content/warnings, please see **[the chapter 1 end notes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25774906/chapters/62600305#chapter_1_endnotes)**. ♡♡♡
> 
> thank you for joining me on this ride. i only planned for this to be a little 5-8k oneshot and yet,,
> 
> please enjoy the final chapter! ♡

At the six-month mark of his relationship, Dimitri knows he can’t put this off any longer.

He’s made a lot of very small steps, and therefore one collective large leap from the state of his life the year previous, but he’s been putting off the part he dreads the most. Edelgard is the one to bring it up, actually, at yet another tiresome board meeting between the two newly-merged companies.

“So,” she starts, absently picking at her impeccably well-groomed fingernails, “How’s therapy going?”

He can’t blame her for the false assumption. At the office, there isn’t much time to talk about anything but work, but the talks have run long and it’s already six forty-five. At first, he freezes up at the question, thawing out slowly as he throws his things into his briefcase. “I haven’t been.”

Years ago, he’d been mandated to attend sessions by the state. More recently, his psychiatrist had refused to sign him out of the hospital on a clean bill of health and Dimitri had terminated his contract with her. Before meeting Byleth and discovering his new hobby, he’d spurned any and all outlets of positive change, paranoidly believing everyone in the health profession to be conspiring against him.

Edelgard narrows her eyes. “Dimitri.”

He sighs. Though they hadn’t grown up together, he’ll always see her as something of a hard-nosed older sister. “Look, you know how much effort it takes to run a business like this. I’ve been busy.”

“I hear you’re making time for dates now, and going to the gym.” He frowns. “Don’t look at me like that. Your office is full of gossips.”

Dimitri figures that much is true. He’s always been brusque with the people he doesn’t need to charm, thus inviting them to whisper speculations about his life with snippets of the truth weaved in from sources like Felix or, more likely, Sylvain.

He grinds his teeth. “I’m working on doing things for myself.” Already, his max press weight has gone up by fifty pounds. Petra had delightedly shown Dimitri pictures of himself from his first week, a washed out slip of a man, and now, at least, he looks about average. “Therapy hasn’t been at the top of my list of priorities.”

Though, in a way, his ‘sessions’ with Byleth have done something to bridge the gap. He learns something new about himself every time, after all.

Edelgard sighs, fixing him with a searching, fond look. “Do you still have nightmares?”

He recalls with perfect clarity the feeling of Patricia’s hands around his throat the night before, the sensation waking him up around two in the morning. Dimitri would never frighten his stepsister with details of the visions—he’s not that far gone. He can still tell what’s real and what’s not. For now. “Yes,” he says at last, running a hand down the back of my neck. “I’m used to them. It’s fine.”

“It’s _not_ , Dimitri.” She jabs her manicured fingernail into the blonde’s chest. “Clinging to the past means that you never learn to let it go.”

“El. I _said_ everything is fine,” he snarls, storming past her to the elevators, stabbing the down button in tense silence.

* * *

It startles Dimitri to have a visitor so late at night, but then, Byleth usually doesn’t leave the club until two or three on the weekends. He lets the dark-haired man into the penthouse with a scowl, fully aware that he looks terrible.

“I missed seeing you at the club tonight,” Byleth muses, holding out his hand to initiate their ritual. “Have a bad week?”

Dimitri has an internal conflict of grand proportions, complete with the whispers of the damned in his ears. “Do you mind if I tell you something strange?”

Byleth takes a seat on the couch, all ears. “Of course not. Go right ahead.”

Dimitri slumps down beside his lover, leaning into Byleth’s warmth. “I hear them, sometimes. My mother and father’s voices. My stepmother. Though I’ve been assured that my old caretaker is alive and well with an active restraining order, I hear her too. Sometimes, like now, they’re quieter than usual. They’re scared of you, I think, because they know you’re a force to be reckoned with.” Byleth smiles at the skewed compliment. “I’ve told you that I don’t sleep much, that I have nightmares, but this is still a problem that I felt needed to be addressed.”

He puts his palm out, a small request, and Byleth accepts easily, lacing their fingers together.

“I’ve never liked therapists,” Dimitri admits quietly. “It always feels like they want me to be something I’m not. I _know_ that I have anger issues and survivor’s guilt. That doesn’t make it any easier for me to let down my walls. To exorcise my ghosts.”

Byleth hums. “It’s difficult, isn’t it? To have people stare at you like you’re crazy, even if they have the best of intentions.” He closes his eyes. “When I was young, I had an imaginary friend named Sothis.” Dimitri blinks down at Byleth, who looks uncharacteristically somber. “Well, calling her completely imaginary isn’t fair. She was my neighbor, once, and she died in the woods one day. Nobody could ever figure out why she was there, and it became a cold case.”

There’s a lull in the conversation, but it’s peaceful. Dimitri and Byleth simply sit there and breathe each other in, working up the courage to share their most private stories.

“I guess I didn’t handle it well, because I started spacing out a lot after she died. I pulled away from my classmates, and for a long time, she was my only friend. After my dad died, I talked to her even more. It took too much effort to explain what was happening in my head to my therapist.”

Byleth pauses for a beat. “It was an odd disconnect. I knew she was real—I never had any doubts about that. Yet, I’d accepted the fact that she died. One of the doctors said it was a coping mechanism, a way to help me process guilt, but I never saw my dad after he got shot. Not once. I figured something was just broken in my brain in regards to the mourning process, but eventually, I found a way to stop spending so much time in there.”

He smiles, putting a hand on Dimitri’s thigh. “It was an impulse decision, taking out the money to open the club. My dad left me a lot of money in his will, and I’d never spent a bit of it before I turned twenty-six. By that point, I’d already stumbled out of a messy relationship and normal bars bored me to tears.” Dimitri stares at Byleth in awe, impressed with his gumption. “I didn’t know if it was something that would take off, really, but I took the chance. Luckily, it paid off in the end. I’ve met some of my best friends at work, and I think I’ve made quite the safe haven for people who usually feel too embarrassed about their kink to embrace it.”

Dimitri hums. “Does she still speak to you? Sothis.”

Byleth stretches out his legs, softly shaking his head. “No, not really. Sometimes, I feel she tries to in my dreams because I wake up feeling like I’ve been given some piece of weird advice.” He wrinkles his nose at an old memory. “She’s always been loud and bossy, though, so I think I would’ve remembered it, if she had.”

Dimitri laughs. “Fair enough.” He tilts his head back, resting it on the cushions with a wry smile. “Look at the pair of us. Ghost whisperers.”

Byleth giggles at the moniker. “I like that. We should start a club. Or a band.”

“I've never played an instrument.”

“Neither have I. Guess we have to give up on our short-lived dream.”

* * *

Byleth suggests that Dimitri focuses more on his physical health first, rather than his mental. “One affects the other,” he says, and Dimitri begrudgingly agrees. After all, he’s been putting off his doctors’ appointments for months.

He spends his lunch break on Monday making tedious phone calls, pressing buttons and fumbling through questionnaires with receptionists until he’s made arrangements to meet with his PCP, Cardiologist, and Dentist.

Dr. Pronislav, a thin-lipped, red-and-gray haired man, is surprised to see him after so many years. “Dimitri, is that you?”

Dimitri nods, feeling childish as he tries his best to hold the doctor’s gaze, annoyed with himself that it takes so much effort to do the bare minimum. “Hello, Mr. Gilbert,” he says, exchanging greetings. The man had been a friend of his father’s and the primary care physician for most of Dimitri’s family before they’d died, which is exactly how long it’s been since Dimitri stepped in this office.

Gilbert is a quiet man, reading through the nurse’s notes and Dimitri’s charts with an impassive expression. He asks if Dimitri’s been taking his medications, the olanzapine for his ‘hallucinations’, and the metoprolol for his arrhythmia. Shamefully, he admits that he’d flushed them down the toilet after his last trip to the hospital, though he’d kept the acid reflux prescription, pantoprazole, for emergencies, just in case he has a bad bout of heartburn.

“And how are you feeling, without them?”

Dimitri sighs, fidgeting on the bench. “Fine.”

His nightmares make his heart race, and he so generally elects not to sleep. By this point, he can survive off of one or two hours a night, though lately, he’s been creeping up to four. His doctors have told him a hundred times that he should meditate or change his lifestyle. Strictly speaking, they can’t write him a prescription for sedatives because they wouldn’t mix well with his schizophrenia.

Gilbert purses his lips, but refrains from saying what he really wants to say. He doesn’t think Dimitri is in the mood to hear it. “Well, I’d like for you to see your cardiologist for a follow up, see what they think about continuing the beta blockers. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to see a psychiatrist about the olanzapine, either.”

He nods, fingers clenched tightly in his lap. “Right.”

It’s a step in the right direction, at least.

His other two appointments are a little easier, with no one trying to gently prod him to seek therapy. After a couple weeks, he receives a fairly clean bill of health. The cardiologist says his pulse is elevated, but if it isn’t causing Dimitri discomfort, she would prefer for him to stay off of the metoprolol. Given that he’s exercising regularly again, she isn’t concerned about his heart.

He gets voicemails and email updates about his condition, and once the grueling month comes to a close, he’s desperately in need of a scene to unwind. Felix steps into his office, and Dimitri nearly bites his head off, for all that he’s been trying to meditate at night, looking inside of himself for patience.

“I’m sorry,” he backtracks on his snappy tone immediately, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s just. You know how it is, at this time of year.”

Felix nods, arms folded over his chest. “It’s fine. I came to tell you to go home, anyways.” Dimitri glances at the clock on his desk, finding that it reads seven-thirty. “It’s Friday. You’re not usually here this late.”

Dimitri curses under his breath, slamming his laptop closed and throwing a bunch of papers into his briefcase. “Thank you,” he says, pulling out his phone to call Byleth. He tells his boyfriend he’ll be running late, nodding to Felix as he exits the building.

An hour later, he arrives at Byleth’s condo, his hair matted with sweat. “You didn’t have to rush.” Byleth shakes his head at Dimitri with a smile. “Come in.”

It’s warm inside, so Dimitri takes off his coat. He’s only been over once before, and he didn’t stay long. It feels quite special to have been invited. There are trinkets all over the place, little bobbles showcasing the places Byleth has been. He appreciates the décor, which is modern, but not overly so; it looks well lived-in, unlike his penthouse, which has only recently begun to feel like a home.

What they have planned for the evening, Byleth explains, is called edging. “You’ve had a few months to get used to different toys and tools, so I think it’s time. How do you feel about blindfolds?”

Dimitri blushes as he towels himself down, wringing his hair out before reaching for Byleth’s blow-dryer. “I guess it wouldn’t be too much different, seeing as I’m already half-blind.”

“Fair enough,” Byleth says. “I don’t want to trigger you. I know some bad shit happened to you in the past.”

Dimitri smiles sadly. “Honestly, I almost wish they had covered my eyes. It would have been easier.” He wouldn’t have seen the knife approaching the right side of his face when one of the cretins moved to mangle him. He had escaped death only because they needed a hostage alive for negotiation. “I don’t think I’ll mind, but I’ll let you know if it gets bad.”

Byleth runs a hand through his hair, which is still warm from the dryer fan. “Alright.”

They move to the bedroom at a steady pace, Dimitri growing embarrassed when he sees there’s lingerie laid out on the bed for him. “Really?” Everything is lacy and deep blue, designed to look like something from the sixties. There are knee-high stockings, garters, a t-back thong, and even little wrist cuffs, all of the pieces designed for someone with a stocky frame in mind. “You can’t possibly think I’ll look good in these.”

“Oh, _yes_ ,” Byleth purrs, a sly look on his face. “I do.”

Dimitri swallows, holding up the stockings with trembling hands, mentally steeling himself. “If you say so, then.”

He pulls the t-backs on first, then the stockings, sliding on the rest of the accoutrements slowly. When he’s finished, he fidgets, tugging at the material around his wrists. Byleth goes to his table, which has all the things he plans to use tonight, returning with a silicon ring that’s nearly the same shade of blue as the rest of Dimitri’s things. “This’ll be a little tight,” he says, sliding the material on down Dimitri’s soft cock until it rests at the base.

It’s a cumbersome weight in his thong for the moment, just a reminder that he’ll be denied from having an orgasm later.

Today, Byleth tells Dimitri to lie back on the bed, to make himself comfortable. Once his head hits the pillow, the shorter man kneels over him, taking the time to touch Dimitri’s scars. “Make sure that you remember to use your safeword if you need it, Dima.”

Dimitri nods, exhaling heavily when Byleth pulls away, thighs tight around Dimitri’s shoulders as he ties the blindfold.

He shivers at the first sensation, of Byleth rubbing some kind of lotion over his skin. Byleth lingers at his most sensitive portions, like his ribs and the dip of his pelvis, but what makes Dimitri groan is the downright _groping_ of his chest.

Byleth flicks a nail across his nipple, the tip of it pebbling up. Then, he drags his fingers across the cleft of Dimitri’s chest, letting out a satisfied hum. “Still hitting the gym, I see,” Byleth remarks, his tone ever-so-casual.

Dimitri nods, his mouth dry. “I thought you might appreciate the effort, sir.”

Byleth slaps a palm against Dimitri’s left pec and the skin bounces back quickly. He chuckles when the blonde bites his lip in response. “You know I don’t care what your body looks like, as long as you’re having fun.”

“Yes,” Dimitri breathes, already twitching with desire at the comment.

Once he’s finished with the massage, Byleth tugs at the t-back, careful not to disturb the garters as he pushes the thong down below Dimitri’s cheeks. “Put your hands behind your head.”

Dimitri obeys, heart racing as he listens to the sound of something jingling in Byleth’s hand. A set of nipple clamps, he realizes when they’re fastened on his body. He works very hard not to squirm, to keep his inhalations steady and sure when he feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin at all of these unseen surprises.

He can tell when Byleth cracks open the lube, the unmistakable squelch of the gel pouring onto his fingers. Already, the ring around his cock is starting to feel uncomfortable, Dimitri’s blood rushing to the tip of it with no catharsis in sight.

Byleth works him slowly, as he likes it. He’s sweet in bed, as he is in or out of a scene, pressing delicate kisses to Dimitri’s thighs as he works. Dimitri bucks, and he apologies for acting out of turn, but his only reprimand is a brief tug on the clamps.

The second time, when Byleth rubs his thumb against Dimitri’s prostate, he groans, and the chain is pulled harder, pain blooming across his chest. “You like that, Dima, don’t you?” Byleth murmurs, his voice suddenly closer than before, breath hot against Dimitri’s ear. “You’ve gotten very red, trying to hold still for me.”

“Yes,” Dimitri pants, controlling himself so he doesn’t whine. “The pain feels. _Good._ ”

Byleth slaps his flank. “I’m glad.”

Instead of offering Dimitri relief, Byleth roams off, leaving Dimitri to catch his breath on the bed. He tells the blonde to relax his arms for a while, and when he returns, he puts a hand behind Dimitri’s back to help him sit up.

“You have to stay hydrated,” Byleth says, one hand cradling the water bottle and the other resting below Dimitri’s chin. “Drink it slowly.”

Dimitri tilts his head back as Byleth pours, keeping the flow of liquid at the level of constant trickle. Finally, he kisses Dimitri’s neck before pulling away, wiping some of the sweat off of the taller man’s brow.

“Keep your hands above your head this time,” Byleth orders, the rough material of his shorts nearly making Dimitri howl as he puts a generous amount of his weight on the blonde’s torso.

He rolls a condom over Dimitri’s shaft before swallowing him down, a technique so fluidly executed that it feels downright professional.

It is a _crime_ , Dimitri thinks, that he can’t come right now. Byleth pushes a thumb into his sac, as if to add insult to injury, and he’s sure his dick could break in half, that’s how rigid it feels.

Right when he thinks he could defy the odds and make something trickle out anyways, Byleth backs off, reaching between his own legs to pull at the clamps. “Almost finished,” he says, reminding Dimitri that they’re making progress, though he’s sweating miserably and drawn taut with nerves, ready to burst.

Byleth lets him relax again for a few minutes, giving him more water, and then he tells Dimitri to hold up his legs.

He feels blissfully humiliated by the gesture, open wide and shaking with the stretch of the action. When Byleth takes the cock ring off, Dimitri nearly cries.

“You’ve been very good for me,” Byleth murmurs, lube-slick fingers rubbing Dimitri’s shaft, vigilantly avoiding the irritated portion where the inhibitor had been. “I’m going to take care of you. Don’t worry.”

There’d never been a single doubt about that in Dimitri’s mind. “Yes, sir,” he replies, sweat making the cloth on his face feel heavy.

Lubricated silicon glides into Dimitri’s hole smoothly, and he moans at the slight buzz roaming through it. Byleth feathers a lacy paddle over Dimitri’s forearms, watching as he labors to hold his position. “Forty slaps; twenty for each leg. Count for me. If you get tired, let go.”

The first five hits are virtually harmless. They sting, but it’s nothing Dimitri can’t handle. His grip slips, palms growing damp, as he shouts out the number fifteen, but he’s determined to see this through. He’s spurred on by the low groans Byleth emits while driving into him, focusing on the feeling of precome dribbling down his cock under the shorter man’s ministrations at long last.

He hisses at twenty-seven, tears pooling under his blindfold. He thinks, if he could see, his vision would be blurry. His voice comes out in a slur.

Byleth tugs on the clamps, leaning down to kiss his jaw. “Would you like me to stop?”

“No, sir,” Dimitri says, drawing in a deep breath to compose himself. “I just need a moment, please. I’m only a bit startled, is all, by how different things feel when I can’t see.”

Byleth unties his blindfold with nimble fingers, and it takes a while for Dimitri’s eye to adjust to the light, though it’s very low in the room. “Better now?”

Dimitri nods, relief coursing through him as he sees where they’re connected—Byleth, too, is glistening with sweat and glowing with pride.

 _Thirteen more,_ he thinks. “Okay. I’m ready.”

Byleth holds back a bit for a few strokes, continuing to alternate legs as before. His hips roll, eliciting pleasure from both parties. Not once, during all of his multitasking, does he forget to help Dimitri get off, the thwack of the paddle loud in the small room.

He comes at thirty-six and he works very hard to remember how to count through the last sequence of numbers, his legs flopping onto the mattress. Byleth pulls out of him when he’s finished, eyes shining with some warm emotion Dimitri cannot name. Long fingers reach down to pull Dimitri’s hair out of his face, lips touching the tip of Dimitri’s nose. “You did so well, Dima,” Byleth murmurs, and Dimitri preens as much as he’s able to, boneless and aching all over.

Byleth pulls the clamps off of Dimitri’s tender nipples, moving to the bathroom to put the toys in the sink for a wash. He brings in a soothing cream for Dimitri’s chest, rubbing it in ginger circles; he puts a cold compress on Dimitri’s penis, though it makes the blonde’s toes curl. “It’ll help stave off irritation. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

Eventually, when he’s finished running a warm washcloth over Dimitri’s skin and cleaning everything else they used, except the blindfold, which he’s thrown into his laundry basket, he has Dimitri stand, only for a minute, so he can take the protective sheet off of the mattress and put down a fresh cotton set. After that, he pulls up a downy comfortable, making himself at home as the big spoon yet again.

“I love you, you know,” Byleth admits, the first time he’s said those three little words in the year they’ve been seeing each other. “I’ve wanted to tell you for a while, but it never seemed to be the right time.”

Something cozy and euphoric bubbles up in Dimitri’s chest. Though he’d cried earlier, body overwhelmed by sensations, his vision swims with tears again, pulling Byleth’s hand up to his face with helpless sobs tumbling out of his throat. “I love you too,” he says, echoing the statement, and he knows, wholeheartedly, that it’s the truth.

* * *

In the morning, Dimitri shyly picks at his breakfast. “You should get a haircut,” he mumbles, internally cursing his roundabout way of addressing the issue.

Byleth toys at the ends of his hair, which is starting to curl past his shoulders. Though he typically wears it in a bob, it also isn’t the furthest length Dimitri’s seen him grow it out. “You think so? I guess it’s been frizzy lately, with all this snow. I was gonna wear it up in a bun for the winter formal at the club, though.”

“I didn’t—it wasn’t. I’m being an awful pig about this, I’m sorry. I just want you to meet my friends,” he says at last, nearly biting his tongue as he speaks. “I’m not very good at this. Communicating.”

Byleth laughs. “Join the club. Well, that’s certainly something that’s more difficult to plan than getting a haircut.” He pauses. “Oh, I get it. They cut yours for you, right? I forgot about that. God, how long’s it been since we had that conversation?”

“I don’t know,” Dimitri confesses, feeling sheepish. “All the more reason I should’ve gotten straight to the point.” He pulls out his phone. “They’re usually free on Sundays, I think, if you’re open to having brunch.”

“Sure,” Byleth agrees, stuffing a forkful of spinach into his mouth.

“I should warn you that they’re all a bit much,” Dimitri says, smiling as he thinks of them. “And, not that it matters, all three of them are in a relationship together.”

“Sexy.” Dimitri wrinkles his nose at the word, which makes Byleth laugh. “Alright. I suppose I’ll brace myself for the inevitable doom.”

“No, never,” the blonde insists. “They’ll adore you, I promise. If anything, _I’m_ the one who should be nervous. They’re never going to let me live this down, that I’ve been dating you for a year and they don’t even know what you look like.”

“ _Oh_.” Byleth beams, a twinkle glittering in his eyes which reeks of mischief brewing on the horizon. “This should be fun.”

Suddenly, Dimitri realizes the nightmare scenario he’s created, having all of the people who love to see him suffer gathered in one place.

* * *

“Let me make sure I have this right,” Felix flatly says. “Dimitri, notorious canceller of plans and group hang outs, has invited us to have brunch with his boyfriend?”

Sylvain elbows his boyfriend in the side, lips quirked up in a smile. “You told him yes, right?”

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “Of course I did.”

“I will do _no such thing_ —” Felix cuts himself off with a shriek, laughing as he’s tickled into submission by not one, but two, sets of traitorous hands under his armpits. “Okay, _okay_ , fine, I’m going. I’m just at a loss. He’s already gone this long without telling us anything about the guy, and now he wants to meet us for brunch.” Felix straightens out his hair. “Hell hath frozen over.”

“Well, I think it’s great,” Sylvain comments. Felix rolls his eyes, because of course the redhead _would_ think so.

Ingrid slings her arm over Sylvain’s shoulder conspiratorially, the two of them leering at Felix as if their twin smirks will make him do anything other than scowl.

Two weeks later, the three of them walk up to a quaint little restaurant, finding the happy couple tucked into one of the large booths. Byleth waves to catch their attention, a golden necklace with thin, triangular chains making a statement against the fabric of his black turtleneck.

Greetings are exchanged promptly, the five of them making empty chatter until their server comes over. After they take down the table’s drink orders, Byleth leans forward on the table, a glint in his gray-blue eyes. “So, I hear the four of you are childhood friends.”

Dimitri groans and Byleth puts a hand on his thigh, a light reminder to _behave_ even though they’re with company.

“Yes,” Ingrid gushes, merrily spewing out embarrassing memories of the boys. The blonde woman grouses that she’d always been the one to chew the three of them out, to wrestle all of them into submission to keep them from fighting.

She goes on to say that once upon a time ago, Dimitri and Felix had been the crybabies of their group, with the former sneaking off to cry where he thought nobody could see him and the latter going to Sylvain to whine about how he made Dimitri upset.

“I wasn’t _whining_ ,” Felix grumbles, sipping at his coffee with a furrowed brow. “I was ranting, because I was angry.”

Sylvain raises an eyebrow. “Ranting with snot running down my shirt?” Felix kicks him below the table, the pressure making the redhead hiss.

Byleth just listens, drinking in the rowdy chatter from the three across from them. When their food arrives, he doesn’t do the _whole_ showboat thing with Dimitri, simply offers him a bite of an omelet off of his fork, but the blonde still opens his mouth with the slightest air of embarrassment. It isn’t _that_ odd to share a meal with his boyfriend, but when he’s gotten used to crawling in Byleth’s lap and being hand-fed for half of the dining experience, even this much feels slightly elicit.

“Well, well,” Felix chuckles. “Look who’s whipped.”

 _God_ , Dimitri thinks, willing himself not to blush. _If only they knew._

It occurs to Dimitri that they _do_ know, actually, and the realization makes him bury his face in his hands. The gesture makes Byleth laugh. “I _thought_ you were handling our status being made public pretty well. I should’ve known better. Did you forget that Sylvain had a hand in bringing you to my club in the first place?”

“I’m going to die,” Dimitri murmurs melodramatically, the tips of his ears pink. “I’m actually going to die, right here, of embarrassment.”

Sylvain grins, fluttering his eyelashes at Byleth with a hundred-watt smile. “All we care about is whether Dimitri’s happy or not, and you two seem to be getting along great. I’m glad.”

“Yes,” Byleth replies, his hand warm against Dimitri’s back as he rubs it in soothing circles, watching as Dimitri peels his fingers away from his blue eye. “I think I’ll keep him around.”

A thrill licks up Dimitri’s spine at those magic little words, the weight of them somehow even heavier than those Byleth first muttered two weeks ago.

 _Keep_ , he’d said, just the hint of possession riding in Byleth’s tone. Dimitri feels woozy, light-headed with his excitement.

Idly, he wonders if Byleth will collar him one day. If the shorter man will find him worthwhile to claim despite all of his flaws.

* * *

Life goes on, the world still turns, and Dimitri is exactly one inch from ripping his sister’s head off of her shoulders. “Leicester Marketing has been our premier source for consumer poll information for the last ten years—you had _no right_ to go above my head in scoping out someone new.”

“We run a _merged corporation_ ,” Edelgard insists, her tone as frigid as Dimitri’s is volcanic, two predators circling blood in the water, ready to strike. “It isn’t a requirement for me to run anything by you except our proposed quarterly budgets.”

The bickering goes on for ages, until Felix and Hubert, the right hands to each company’s heir, step in to diffuse the situation. Hubert, who typically prefers to finish the job promptly and without remorse, calls for a recess, fully aware that his boss is about to lose her composure.

In the break room, Dimitri huffs out a sigh. “I’m sorry. I know I’m being needlessly difficult about this. I’m frustrated, because the digital transference programs keep crashing with our workload. It’s a project that I initiated and it’s costing us more money that I planned on.”

Edelgard blinks up at him in surprise, sipping at her tea with a hum. “Well. I do appreciate the apology. But I came in here to relax, not talk shop. Save the rest of your _woe is me_ speech for later.”

Dimitri grumbles _it isn’t a woe is me speech_ under his breath; Edelgard rolls her eyes.

“Let’s change the subject. How have you been?”

Understandably, Dimitri is wary of his sister’s interest in his affairs. “Good.” He keeps his tone neutral. He knows Edelgard—she’s not going to waste much time with hollow questions.

“Right. I can tell.” She nods her head sagely after flicking her eyes perfunctorily up and down his body.

Dimitri huffs while folding his arms over his chest. His shirt _is_ getting a bit tight thanks to his increased muscle mass. “Then why did you ask?”

Without bothering to answer his rhetorical question, she bulldozes ahead. “Since it seems as though things are serious between you and your partner, will you—”

Alarmingly sensing what Edelgard is getting at, Dimitri holds his hand out with a scowl. “No.”

Edelgard fixes him with an icy glare. “I didn’t even finish the question.”

“ _No,_ ” Dimitri repeats the word more emphatically this time, half-whining. “Don’t you remember what it was like when you brought Hubert to my place? _No._ ”

All three of them had been miserable, sitting in stifling silence for most of the night while picking at their meal. At the time, Dimitri had been struggling to quiet the voices in his head, the effort of plastering on smiles and trying to crack Hubert’s mask too much for him to handle on top of their hateful words. They’d been two fakes scratching at the surface of each other’s murky depths, and Edelgard had refused to dissolve the tension.

Calling it a disaster would be an understatement.

“El,” Dimitri says, and he’s begging now, because he never calls her that unless he’s really, really desperate. “ _Please_. If you wanna do something, let’s do coffee, not dinner. You and Hubert have this tendency to, um.” Edelgard stares at him impassively, waiting her brother out until he deflates, muttering the end of his thought. “Y’know. Try to eat people alive.”

Edelgard taps her finger on the table. “And? Have you picked someone who’ll be eaten if we have a gathering that takes longer than thirty minutes?”

“Oh, no,” Dimitri answers easily, waving off her concern. “He’ll be able to hold his own. That doesn’t mean I have to enjoy the experience. The two of you scare me. I’m not too proud to admit it.”

His confession makes Edelgard crack a smile and snort, the sound quickly devolving into giggles. Dimitri joins her, and with lighter hearts, they head back to their meeting, having arranged some sort of a truce.

* * *

It’s a Friday afternoon when Byleth first approaches the subject of an exhibition at the club. “As you know, bondage is a pretty big deal in the community, and it takes on all sorts of variations. I used to practice tying shibari knots a lot back in the day, but I’ve gotten rusty. I was thinking about getting back into it, if you’re interested in helping me give a demonstration.”

The wheels in Dimitri’s head turn, color blooming on his cheeks as he realizes what Byleth’s getting at. “Yes, sir,” slips out of his mouth before he can help it, and he slides his eye off to the side while he internally overheats.

Byleth smiles, quirking a curious eyebrow at his partner. “Do you even know what shibari is?” When Dimitri shakes his head, Byleth goes to grab his laptop, pulling up pictures for reference. “Usually, it’s a decorative type of bondage. Lots of intricate knots and structures designed to use the body as a canvas. It’s not recommended for people to do it if they have poor circulation, though, so I guess you’d have to run it by your doctor first.”

Dimitri half-chokes at the thought of talking to Gilbert about his kinks and puts a hard stop to that idea. “Maybe we could try it at home first,” he suggests. “See how things go. Build up my tolerance slowly.”

Byleth moves forward to lean against Dimitri, breathing him with a pleased little laugh. “Alright. Sounds like a plan.”

They craft a tentative schedule with plenty of time for aftercare included, Byleth taking care to rub Dimitri’s limbs back to life after every session to make sure he doesn’t suffer from any lasting bruises or other complications.

Three months later, while Byleth is moving things around on the schedule, he notices that there’s a space left open on the showcase calendar. He asks Dimitri if he’s ready and the blonde nods eagerly, excited to take on the challenge.

On the big day, Dimitri doesn’t eat much, his nerves thrumming at the prospect of what’s to come. There are a couple of familiar faces in the audience as Dimitri stands in his briefs, namely Hilda, Marianne, and Dorothea, delighted at the rare display that’s going to take place.

Apparently, according to Byleth, it had taken the better part of two weeks for some construction workers to set up a safe rig. “Had to close the room the whole time,” Byleth explains with a smile. “But it’ll be worth it, if we can pull it off.”

Dimitri squeezes Byleth’s hand. He’s not nervous about falling, especially because Byleth only plans to rig him a foot or two off of the ground. If anything, he’s worried about sub-dropping in front of a crowd. He wants to do this right. He wants to earn his place at Byleth’s side. “I trust you,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss his boyfriend.

Byleth pushes Dimitri’s hair out of his left eye, making sure the patch on the right is secure around Dimitri’s head. “Thank you.”

The lights usually go down for the shows, but Byleth needs them up, both to demonstrate the complexity of the knots and to ensure that there are no faults in the rope.

The first portion of their act consists of Dimitri stepping out of his skivvies and kneeling down, keeping his eye closed. Byleth pulls Dimitri’s hair up in a high, tight bun, and he breathes through his nose slowly, steadily.

Every motion is familiar, from the way Byleth taps on his arms to make Dimitri lift them to the way the angles are formed against Dimitri’s back. Big, broad strokes of rope come over his chest, a crested formation he’s proudly built up at the gym, heart thudding quickly under the heavy press of Byleth’s fingers.

Once his forearms have been locked together, Byleth leaves a long lead as an anchor, the loop to be tied around a burlap rope, the heavier material better for hoisting him off of the ground.

His cheeks grow flushed as he imagines all of the stares on him, thinks of Byleth pausing to point to various facets on Dimitri’s ties, at the artistry he’s displayed.

Dimitri’s ankles are next, and Byleth tugs on each lead heavily, testing the loops to make sure they’re sturdy. Then, he ties the burlap around each anchor point, Dimitri keeping his chin lifted high as he leaves the floor, first by his arms, his ankles following suit.

He’s spread eagle and hard as a rock, flushed and open for all of the world to see. “You’re doing so well for me, Dima,” Byleth whispers, a private comment meant for Dimitri’s ears alone, and the blonde flushes at the compliment, biting his lips to suppress a moan.

Byleth circles the room a few times, content to admire Dimitri’s form, so delicately cradled in the bonds. Eventually, he traces his finger down Dimitri’s biceps, thighs, and calves. Dimitri’s glistening with sweat, hot under the lights and the attention.

For ten minutes, he stays like that, limbs beginning to go numb. Byleth lowers him carefully, feet first, warning the taller man about the shift in gravity as he goes. Once his bottom is close to the floor, Dimitri rests on that, and Byleth undoes the knots with a smile. “You can open your eyes,” he murmurs as the last piece of rope falls from Dimitri’s chest. “We’re done.”

The audience is _applauding_ , not that Dimitri can hear them through the soundproof glass. Hilda and Dorothea are cheering for him as Byleth holds him steady, the blonde lightheaded from everything that’s transpired.

“That,” he rasps, trying very hard to hold back tears, “was incredible.”

“It was,” Byleth says, as emotional about the experience as Dimitri is, much to the blonde’s surprise. “Wasn’t it?”

* * *

Afterwards, Dimitri is tired, but he doesn’t want to go home just yet. He feels too floaty, skin still tingling from the exhibition. Dorothea, Hilda, and Marianne join him at one of the bar’s larger booths, the ladies looking exorbitantly pleased.

Hilda is the first to speak. “Well, well. I always thought you had it in you to be a good sub, but wow. I can’t believe it was your first time doing a scene in public.”

Dimitri shakes his head with a sleeping smile, taking a moment to sip some water. “Byleth asked me beforehand if I preferred to see the audience or not and I said no. But, I did want to know they were there from the start, hence the window instead of a one-way mirror. There’s a different kind of high that comes with closing your eyes for a crowd.”

Dorothea wolf-whistles. “Feels like you’ve really embraced the lifestyle now. I’m happy for you. Looked like you and Byleth had a lot of fun.”

“Speak of the devil.” Hilda cackles. “Byllie, the other man of the hour. How could you leave your cute little Dimitri all alone? He could’ve been snatched away by any passing dom enchanted by his performance.”

Byleth rolls his eyes at her, taking a seat next to Dimitri, pulling his hair free of the tie at long last. “I’m not worried about that. He knows who he belongs to, don’t you?”

Dimitri swallows, face hot as his lips pull up into a wobbly grin. “Yes.”

Hilda snorts. “Ugh. _Men_.” Marianne giggles at Hilda’s tone, the blue-haired woman hiding her mouth so she doesn’t come off as rude.

The five of them chat for a while before Dimitri yawns, Byleth making excuses to beg off. They pass Lysithea on the way out, who flashes Dimitri a v for victory, a congratulatory gesture for his hard work today.

In the parking lot, Byleth fusses over Dimitri again. “Are you sure you’re alright to drive?”

“I’m sore, but I’ll be fine. I’ll take a long bath, ice my wrists when I get out. I remember the instructions.” Byleth’s forehead wrinkles in concern and Dimitri laughs. “I’m okay, Byleth, I promise. Everything about tonight was amazing.”

When Byleth smiles, it’s an uncharacteristically shy little thing. It makes Dimitri’s heart flutter, overflowing with affection for his boyfriend. “I got something for you,” he says at last, digging in his pockets.

Dimitri stares, lips parted in awe as Byleth opens a box and reveals a necklace, a thin leather strap with a stone pendant dangling at the end of it.

“I know I said it wasn’t all leather and chains in the community, but leather _is_ a gentle material to wear under clothing, and it keeps well. Do you like it?”

Dimitri’s stomach bottoms out, nearly wheezing with the sudden lack of air in his lungs. “I—oh, _god_ , of course I like it.” He fidgets with his hands for a bit before leaning down and closing his eyes. “Would you put it on for me?”

Byleth’s nails scrape against Dimitri’s nape as he fastens ties the ends of the cord, the stone resting against his sternum. “It’s a lapis lazuli stone, said to be a symbol of the night sky. Apparently, according to my dodgy web search, they’re supposed to ward off evil, but who knows? I mostly liked the color. Thought it would suit you.”

It’s deep blue with shimmering white portions and flecks of black scattered about the clean bevels of the stone.

“You can wear it under your clothes, if you want,” Byleth says. “I don’t care if you want it to be private.”

Dimitri fiercely shakes his head. “No, never. I want everyone to know that I’m yours.” The force of his declaration surprises even him, so he runs a hand through his bangs and bites his lip, backpedaling. “I mean. Unless I’ve misunderstood something here.”

“No, Dima.” Byleth puts his hand against Dimitri’s jaw, and it’s telling, because he rarely calls the blonde by his pet name outside of scenes or the bedroom. “It’s your collar. We can talk more about what this means for our relationship later. Go home and get some rest.”

Dimitri kisses Byleth’s fingers, lips lingering for a while as he shakes, tears welling up in his eye. “Okay.”

* * *

Edelgard quirks an eyebrow at her brother as he sips his latte. “I didn’t take you for the jewelry sort.”

Dimitri toys with his necklace absently, cheeks flushing pink. “It was a gift,” he explains, going back to cradle the mug with both hands.

Spring has finally arrived in the city, and with it, there’s been a break in the madness for the two of them. Faerghus and Adrestia are still largely independent industries, and neither of them seems particularly keen on giving up their titles, so it’s a logistical nightmare in the realm of law.

However, as far as day-to-day matters are concerned _―much_ to Dimitri’s great disappointment―they can finally afford to make time for coffee.

Both of them come fifteen minutes early, waiting in the long line for drinks before heading to the small table in the window, the sun streaming in through the blinds. They haven’t torn each other’s throats out yet, which Dimitri considers a miracle, and it doesn’t take long for Hubert and Byleth to break out of the crowd and approach.

Byleth pecks Dimitri’s forehead, grimacing at his workplace hairdo. “You know how much I hate the pomade.”

“I’m sorry,” he replies sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m so used to styling it this way now. I wanted to appear professional when I first stepped up as the CEO in my twenties.”

Edelgard laughs at his comment. “That’s right. I remember the way you complained about all the old men mocking your ponytail, at first. You were humiliated.”

Dimitri scowls at his sister. “How very kind of you to bring up my trauma.” After a moment, he forces a smile for the other member of their party. “Hello, Hubert. I hope you had a good trip.”

“It was productive,” Hubert replies, his tone lyrical and low as always. “Which is the best one can say for a business endeavor.”

“Yeesh,” Byleth grouses, tone breezily cutting through the frigid edge the rest of them are used to speaking with. “Why do you all talk like people trapped in _War and Peace_? Relax a little.”

Cowed by his words, Edelgard clears her throat and smiles, holding out her hand. “Perhaps you’re right. My name is Edelgard, unfortunate older sister to Dimitri here.”

Across from her, Dimitri folds his arms over his chest with a pout. “You’re _six months_ older than me.”

Hubert sips at his tea with a sickly smile. “That’s still older, is it not?” Dimitri huffs at the comment. “My name is Hubert, Ms. Hresvelg’s ever-faithful assistant.”

“Her vampire boyfriend,” Dimitri adds.

Edelgard puts a hand on her chin, a glint in her eye. “Yes. I _do_ so love sending Hubert to go collect the blood of virgins in the dead of night.”

Byleth groans. “Glad to know that melodrama runs in the family.”

The rest of their gathering goes smoothly, with only twenty or thirty minutes to get to know each other before they have to go. Hubert and Edelgard try to badger Byleth with questions about his job, goals, and aspirations, but he coolly handles all of it, and it’s obvious that they’re impressed by the end.

“Well, have fun running a business,” Byleth says. “I’m gonna go get the club ready for the night crowd.”

Edelgard points a finger in the direction Byleth leaves, quirking an eyebrow at the dark-haired man. “I think Byleth may be the most unique person I’ve ever met.”

Dimitri snorts, putting a hand on his hip. “Be careful. Hubert might get jealous.”

“Oh no,” Hubert insists, smiling what Dimitri considers to be his _Dracula_ smile. “I learned a long time ago to take my shortcomings in stride. So long as Ms. Hresvelg lets me stay at her side, I could care less about whether I’m seen as _unique_ or not.”

The blonde shudders. “I really hate spending time with the two of you.”

His sister beams. “So you’ve said.”

* * *

Several months later, Dimitri wakes up early in the morning, skittishly making himself a cup of coffee. It’s been a while since the nightmares have been this bad, and he wants to keep quiet, to leave the other occupant of the bed undisturbed.

Byleth is a light sleeper though, so a few minutes later, likely woken by the feeling of Dimitri’s warmth missing on the mattress, Byleth pads into the kitchen with a yawn. “Couldn’t sleep?”

He sighs, tapping his fingers around the mug. “Yes.”

Byleth sits on the couch, patting his thighs for Dimitri to put his head down on them. Once he does, Byleth plays with his hair, an action that Dimitri has a Pavlovian response to by this point, every part of him relaxing at the touch.

In the quiet hours, it’s easier for Dimitri to talk. “I scheduled an appointment with a therapist,” he mumbles, fingers curled against Byleth’s abdomen. “I talked to a few of them on the phone, trying to see if I felt comfortable enough to meet them in person. I want to stop jumping every time someone taps me on the back.”

Silently, Byleth wonders if he craves a break from the whispers, too. Dimitri says they’re mostly behaved nowadays, but he still doesn’t sleep much. “Alright,” he hums. “Let me know how it goes.”

Later, when Dimitri enters the office, he’s exhausted. He’d gone to the gym in the morning, worked all day, and now he’s here, but he won’t make excuses for himself.

He’s already put things off for this long.

His therapist is much smaller than he imagined she would be. Her name is Flayn, and her hair is seafoam green. There’s something reassuring to him about the dyed color of it—it makes her seem more human. That she’s not just a placid, cardboard-cutout doctor trying to pry the dark history from Dimitri’s lips.

Their session begins slowly. Dimitri has never considered himself the personable sort, and he’s not good at striking up a conversation with strangers. Sensing his anxiety, Flayn tells him to talk about anything he’d like to, even something as simple as what he ate for lunch.

“Celery,” he replies, “and a protein bar.”

He goes on to explain how it’s difficult for him to have a full meal in the middle of the day, because the weight of the food is a distraction at the office. In fact, it had only been in the last year and a half that he remembered to eat much of anything at all.

During the hour, he stiltingly talks about his friends and his boyfriend. About Dedue, who is going to visit his family abroad. About his sister, who he hasn’t gotten any closer to, per se, but they’re on better terms. They aren’t quite as antagonistic with each other as they could be.

He doesn’t talk about the incident at all. About how he lost his eye and his mother. About how his father died in a freak car accident. About the voices, about their threats, about how he always wonders when he’ll give into the self-destructive tendencies that his mind hisses at him.

Though he had to pay for Flayn to listen to him, and she’d occasionally scribbled notes down, it’s one of the nicest things a therapist has ever done for Dimitri.

“Well,” Flayn says, holding out her hand for a shake when their time is up. “This was fun. I hope I’ll see you again.”

He clasps her hand with a fond smile, booking an appointment for the same time next week.

* * *

It’s crowded on Felix, Ingrid, and Sylvain’s couch with five people, but they make it work. “Move it, ginger,” Felix gripes, elbowing Sylvain in the side so he’ll make room.

“ _Ow_.” Sylvain whines as he lets Felix and Ingrid sprawl over his thighs for more space. “What am I, your personal footstool?”

In unison, both of his partners say yes.

Byleth chuckles, summarily delighting in the way Dimitri is curled up in his lap. He’s grown quite bulky, taken to outlasting even _Felix_ at their kickboxing classes, but his muscles don’t stop him from preening under Byleth’s touch, folding up his knees so Byleth can watch the movie and pet his hair at the same time.

Two years ago, Dimitri almost died overworking himself. Yesterday, Byleth made him come so many times that he cried, overstimulated and wrung dry. It’s fascinating, how quickly things can change.

“Look at how cute you two are,” Ingrid babbles, a bright smile on her face. “I wish I had my phone out to take a picture.”

Felix smirks, shooting Byleth a look. “I’m honestly more impressed that he listens to you.”

Byleth cockily smirks back. “I’ve trained him well.” Below his hand, he can feel Dimitri shiver in pleasure, the blonde toying with his necklace.

And, the best part of everything is—it’s not perfect. Dimitri still has his bad days. He and Byleth fight, rarely, working through the kinks of their relationship alongside the _kinks_ of their relationship. There are exhibitions, and days where Dimitri shouts at his friends though he doesn’t mean to. There are his ghosts, ever-present, but their presence has grown faint, now; he’s learning to control them, instead of letting the dead determine his present.

Byleth grabs Dimitri’s hand with a smile, and Dimitri clutches it tightly, his heart warm with gratitude.

And every day, fighting to be happy gets a little easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, thank you so much for checking this fic out. i sincerely hope it was as fun to read as it was to write. please feel free to rant at me about the fic or fe3h or anything at all on my social media!! ♡♡♡♡♡
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